


Worth Waiting For

by Ivorysilk, Robin_tCJ



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cap_Ironman Big Bang 2016, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Marriage, Hospital, Human AU, James “Bucky” Barnes/Clint Barton, Love Triangle, M/M, Medical Emergency, Near Death, Non-super-powered alternate universe, Pining, Romance, Scheming, Tony Stark's Malibu Mansion, Unrequited Love, Wedding Planning, alcohol consumption, heart defect, misdirected angst, no powers au, recovering alcoholism, surgery (mentioned), wedding coffee bar, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 17:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8676703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivorysilk/pseuds/Ivorysilk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ
Summary: Steve Rogers has been in love with his best friend, Bucky, his entire life. Except Bucky is smart, kind, and gorgeous, and Steve knows he's none of these things. It doesn't really matter, until Bucky tells him one day that he's moving clear across the country – to L.A. Steve doesn't really understand why Bucky would ever even consider leaving New York, but he tries to be supportive, and it's not the same, but they still stay in touch over the miles. A year passes. Steve grows taller. And then he receives an invitation in the mail – to Bucky's wedding. Frantic, Steve drops everything he's doing to fly out to L.A. to prevent Bucky from making the biggest mistake of his life, and marrying Clint.When he gets to L.A., though, he meets Clint’s friend Tony – brash, flirty, and gorgeous. Steve has to make a choice – and maybe learn some hard truths about himself in the process.The closer it gets to the wedding, the more confused Steve gets – does he admit how he feels to Bucky, or does he admit to himself how he feels about Tony?





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is some unrequited Steve-pining-after-Bucky here. It's not the endgame, but if you think that's a problem for you, you now know up front. It also causes some not-so-nice character traits and actions by Steve. We love Steve, we do. But for this one, he had to be a bit selfish. There is also Bucky/Clint and a little bit of Natasha/Bruce. FYI.
> 
> We got AMAZING art from Kas Chase. It's so good. It's embedded (and linked for mobile users) throughout the story, but it's also in the end notes. Semi-spoilery, you've been warned.

Looking back on it, there really was nothing to set that Tuesday apart from any other day.  No warning, no sign from the heavens, not even a black cat lurking in his view.  Steve got home from work, same time as he did every day.  He unlocked the front door, and threw his keys and the mail on the coffee table.  Grabbed a beer from the fridge, thumbed off the tab, and collapsed on the couch.  Rifled through the envelopes – bills, bills, junk junk, and –

  
A heavy envelope, with his name on it in fancy script.  He grinned.  It had been his birthday last week – first birthday he and Bucky hadn’t spent together.  First birthday since Bucky got that great job across the country.  First birthday since Bucky had moved to L.A.  Steve had spent the day feeling lonely and sorry for himself.  He and Bucky had talked, sure, but –

But it hadn’t been the same.  Steve grabbed a butter knife, carefully slicing open the envelope, and when he opened it ...

Inside was a lovely card. It was tasteful and elegant. Perfect, really. Steve gasped as he tried to catch his breath.

It was a lovely card, but it was definitely not a birthday card.  The soft linen paper with its calligraphic script fluttered in his trembling hand, as he forced himself to read the words:     _ James Buchanan Barnes and Clinton Francis Barton would be honoured by your presence … _

The room was spinning, as Steve struggled to remember how to breathe, even as he wondered why he wanted to.  

He hadn’t slept that night, not at all.  He’d tried, sure, he’d tried to – tried to understand, to think, to try to make sense of what he was seeing but …

But when he wakes up the next morning, the envelope is still there.  

++++++++++

He’d told himself it hadn’t meant anything.  That it didn’t change anything.  It’s what he’d been telling himself – what Bucky  _ had _ told him – ever since he’d told Steve about the new job.  That this meant nothing, that nothing would change.  

That they were still the same.  Steve and Bucky, together, forever.  

Sure, Bucky had mentioned meeting some guy – Clint, sure, whatever, but Bucky was amazing.  Anybody would be a fool not to notice him.  And sure, Bucky had been head over heels, or so he said – but they’d just  _ met _ .  Bucky was having a fling, he’d been all alone out there, and he’d been working so hard, even before he got to L.A. 

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.  It shouldn’t have meant anything.  Steve had a plan, and Bucky having a fling?  Shouldn’t have even created a blip in it.  It should have been one of those things – those things you laugh about, at your 25th wedding anniversary, when you look back at how young and stupid you once were.

It wasn’t supposed to change anything.

_ James Buchanan Barnes and Clinton Francis Barton would be honoured by your presence at their wedding ceremony on the 6th day of September, in the year of our Lord two thousand and sixteen. _

Clint.  Clint Francis Barton.  Even his name sounds stupid. And who the hell has a middle name like Francis? And exactly how do you get engaged after three months? Without even introducing the guy to your best friend? Steve and Bucky had been friends since childhood, and all Steve’s even seen of the guy is a blurry selfie Bucky had sent. But now Bucky and the bad-selfie-taking Clint are getting married. In less than three months.

It’s got to be a mistake.  This Clint is – he must be taking advantage of Bucky.  Bucky’s smart, sure, but he’s always been – he’s always been friendly, open, a genuinely  _ nice _ guy.  Brooklyn might be tough, but L.A. – L.A. is full of cheats and scumbags.  And Bucky – Bucky’s so talented, so incredibly talented – Bucky’s going places, he’s going to be a huge success, anyone could see that.

And clearly, someone had.

Steve has to sit down. He has to think.  He’s got – he’s finally got enough money, he’s saved enough.  He could – he’s just going to have to make it work.  He could sublet his apartment in Brooklyn, go out to L.A., help Bucky figure things out.  Bucky’s looked after Steve for so long he’s clearly forgotten how to look after himself, but that’s okay.  And then, once that’s settled – well, then it’s time to tell Bucky how he really feels. 

He's had his speech prepared for years, but of course he hadn't been able to muster up the guts to tell Bucky before he'd moved out to L.A. last year.

Sure, they'd kept in touch, they talk every few weeks, but the last time Bucky had seen him,  _ only a year ago _ , he'd still been scrawny and sickly. He's big now – a high-protein diet, weight training, and a lucky late growth spurt had seen Steve become broad-shouldered, muscular, and tall. Steve had been dreaming about seeing Bucky now – now that he no longer looks like a scrawny little beanpole, now that other people look at Steve like he’s worth something more than the butt of a joke. He’d wondered if Bucky’s eyes would light up, if he’d look at Steve like he’d looked at those others – Susan, Claire, Joseph and  _ Eric _ . If he’d look at Steve the way he always had in Steve’s daydreams.

But then there had been the call – at 4 am, waking Steve out of a dead sleep, excitement in Bucky’s voice, and  _ no, this can’t wait until morning. I know there’s a time difference – listen. Listen! I met someone. _

It had been like the screech of nails on a chalkboard. _But_ _I've loved you since we were four_ didn’t seem like the best response as Bucky spoke rapturously about this guy, who was blonde, and gorgeous, and funny, and apparently had been a sniper in the army or something – as though good aim were a life skill people needed to have have. Of course the guy had hit on Bucky – who wouldn’t? Bucky has always been gorgeous, always had broad shoulders and gorgeous biceps, plus he’s just really _nice._ Kind, and decent, and –

They’d met years ago, when Steve was being bullied by some of the older kids on the playground.  Bucky had walked right up to them, not caring at all that he had no idea why the boys were picking on Steve – he’d just walked up and stood next to Steve, and the other guys had just… walked away.

They’d been four years old, and best friends ever since.

Steve still doesn’t know  _ exactly  _ what he’d say. But – it’s Bucky. Bucky, who’s all Steve could ever want in a friend, in – in anyone.  He couldn’t ever imagine needing anyone else.  He’d realized years ago – looked over at Bucky one day, on a day that was perfect just because Bucky was in it and then – and then it had just struck him. Bucky was perfect, and he was all Steve could ever want, period.

He’d known, ever since then, that it was just a matter of time.  One day, one day – 

It was just too bad that Bucky didn’t look at him that way. It wasn’t like Bucky didn’t notice people – he’d noticed Susan, Claire, Joseph and Eric just fine. He’d just never noticed  _ Steve _ .

And it wasn’t as though Steve could actually say anything. He’s always known he’s been lucky enough to have Bucky’s friendship. Bucky had always been one of the most popular guys at school, and he’d chosen to be best friends with Steve, even though Steve had really never had much to offer.

Except –  _ no one knows you like I do, _ he thinks.  _ No one ever could. _

But now there’s this Clint. Clint, who grew up in L.A., who couldn’t possibly appreciate Bucky like Steve did. Does. Will. Whatever. 

Steve knows what he has to do.  No more waiting.  He has to get to L.A., and he has to do it now.

For all the times Bucky has come through for him, this time it’s Steve’s turn.  He’s just got to go out, convince Bucky that he’s making a mistake, explain. 

Because there’s no way it could be anything but – three months?  Three months is–it’s just not possible, is all.  Three months is easy, but three months is nothing compared to the rest of your life. Bucky just doesn’t understand – Steve’s parents had divorced when he was nine, and Steve knows what that kind of break-up can do to a person. Bucky deserves better. He deserves someone who loves him, appreciates him, and will be there for him for the rest of his life. It’s not that Steve deserves him  _ more _ , it’s just that Steve knows that he can do those things for Bucky better than anyone else can.

Certainly better than this Clint fellow. 

++++++++++

Steve grabs his suitcase from the carousel and takes a deep breath. Bucky said he'd pick him up, and Steve is mostly just nervous. He wishes he could shower the stink of a six-hour flight off before seeing him, but it's not an option. Steve has butterflies in his stomach, and he can't help but think it's a good sign that Bucky's so excited to see him that he can't wait.

So Steve collects his bags and heads out toward the doors, taking in the sea of people, looking for the love of his life.

It takes him a few minutes, but he finally spots Bucky, off to the side. Steve feels his face break into a grin, and he picks up speed. He sees the moment Bucky looks at him – and after a few moments, recognizes him – and the look of shock on Bucky's face at Steve's new physique. He's worked so hard the last several months, and the way Bucky's jaw drops is definitely worth it.

Steve finally gets close enough to pull Bucky into a hug, and he does, breathing in his scent, burying his face into the crook of Bucky's neck. He's actually an inch  _ taller _ than Bucky now.

“Steve,” Bucky greets him, returning the embrace.

“Buck,” Steve sighs back.

“I thought you were smaller,” Bucky says, voice still sounding disbelieving, arms squeezing Steve tightly.

Steve chuckles. “Been a while.”

Bucky pulls back for a moment, hands still on Steve's biceps, grinning while he squeezes them. “I mean, you said you were going to the gym, but I didn't think...”

Steve blushes a little. Now's the time, he thinks. Right now. He can just say it.

“Bucky, I –”

“Oh, God, I'm an asshole, sorry, I need – Clint, babe, come here,” Buck says, dropping his hands away from Steve's arms, turning to the left, and there, just a little behind him, is an older man. Blond, shorter than Bucky by at least a few inches, strong jaw and a black and purple t-shirt clinging to his own bulging biceps. He's grinning, right hand stuck out to shake, greenish-blue eyes crinkling up attractively.

Steve's stomach drops.

“Stevie, this is Clint. My fiancé,” Bucky says, putting an arm around the man's broad shoulders, grinning and looking at him like a lovesick puppy. He turns back to Steve, hope in his eyes. Hope that Steve will approve.

“Hey, man, good to meet you,” Clint says, as Steve finally reaches out to shake his hand. Clint grips it firmly and shakes it. “James talks about you all the time.”

_ James? _ Steve thinks, irrationally.  _ His name is Bucky. Asshole. _

“He talks about you, too,” Steve says, smiling tightly. It feels foreign on his face.

Buck moves to grab the handle of Steve's suitcase, his other hand reaching out for Clint's. They twine their fingers together, share a smile, and then Bucky turns back to Steve.

“Our dinner reservations are in a couple hours. You want to shower first?”

Steve flushes, hoping Bucky's comment hasn't been spurred on by the way he must smell after six hours in coach.

“Yeah, I'd better. Air travel,” Steve says, unnecessarily, picking up his duffel and slinging it over his shoulder. He follows Clint and Bucky out of the airport, and they make small talk as they head toward the parking lot – “How was your flight? How are things in New York?” – and heading straight for a shiny, black Plymouth. It's big, and obscene, and definitely restored from the 60s, and Steve kind of wants to drape himself all over it, but he realizes it can't be Bucky's car. Bucky would have told him about this car.

“What do you think of Clint's car?” Bucky asks, gesturing toward it with a knowing smirk.

“Wow,” Steve says, trying to feign at least a little enthusiasm. Clint raises an eyebrow, then moves to put Steve's bags in the trunk.

Bucky blinks at him, and Steve forces a wider smile. “It's nice. What year?”

“Sixty-eight,” Clint says, coming back around to the driver's side. “You a car guy?”

Steve shrugs. “Depends on the car.”

He slides into the back seat, trying to ignore the way Bucky and Clint make moon eyes at each other as they get in.

As they drive, Clint and Bucky take turns pointing out interesting landmarks along the trip. Steve can't help but feel charmed by the city, with its bright sun and palm trees. It takes nearly an hour to get to a little residential area, and they pull up to a small but well-taken-care-of terra cotta bungalow.

Bucky hops out of the car and grabs Steve's bags out of the trunk. Steve picks up the duffel and grabs hold of the suitcase handle, grinning at Bucky.

“Tour first, or shower?” Bucky asks him, unlocking the door so the men can file inside.

“Tour,” Steve says, walking into the little house. It's modest, but comfortable. The floors are laminate, and the living room furniture looks plush. Bucky points through the living room toward what appears to be a kitchen.

“Kitchen is there.” He points to their left, where there is a hallway. “Bathroom, spare bedroom, and master bedroom are that way.”

Steve rolls his eyes at Bucky’s idea of a ‘tour’. “Fine. Where am I sleeping?”

“First door on the left,” Bucky says with a smile, heading toward the kitchen. “Bathroom's across the hall. I already laid a towel out on the bed, so you can go ahead and get cleaned up, and then we'll head out for dinner.”

Steve gives him a nod and takes his bags to the bedroom. It's not huge, but it's not too cramped. The queen sized bed is covered with a light blanket, and there's a fluffy towel folded up in the corner of it. Steve digs through his suitcase for clean clothes, trying to ignore the low voices from the kitchen.

“You didn't tell him I was coming with you to the airport?”

“I didn't think it mattered. It  _ doesn't _ matter.”

“I think it does. I think he felt weird about meeting me so soon.”

“You're going to be my  _ husband _ ,” Bucky says. “He's my best friend. He was just surprised – he's going to love you.”

Steve manages not to scoff out loud.

“I dunno. Maybe I should call Tony, and you and Steve can go for dinner alone,” Clint says. 

Steve holds his breath, hopeful.

“What? No!”

“James, babe, he hasn't seen you in ages. Maybe you guys should hang out one-on-one before you start making him deal with other people. You could have some alone time.”

“No, no, it's fine. He's just tired. He's been on a plane for six hours.”

Steve sighs in defeat, bundling up his clean clothes and the towel, and moving across the hall to the bathroom. He closes the door, managing not to slam it, and turns on the shower to adjust the temperature.

_ So dinner's a group thing, then, _ he thinks, trying to tamp down his disappointment. He just wants to be alone with Bucky, so he can tell him how he feels, but as he steps under the hot spray, he decides he's waited this long, he can wait one more day.

++++++++++

Clint drives the three of them to a little restaurant about twenty minutes away. It's warm and inviting, and full but not over-crowded. They make their way to a table with a little 'reserved' placard on it. Sitting at the table is an older dark-haired man, with a sharply trimmed goatee and big, brown eyes, standing up to grin at them.

Steve finds himself smiling back and meaning it as the man holds out a hand to shake, and feels a slight shiver up his arm at the warm, strong grip.

“Tony Stark,” he introduces himself, and Steve nods once in greeting.

“Steve Rogers,” he counters, enjoying the way Tony's smile seems to get wider.

“Tony's a good friend of mine,” Clint says, moving around the table to sit opposite Tony. Bucky sits beside him, leaving the seat beside Tony empty for him. “He's my best man for the wedding.”

“Good to meet you, Steve Rogers,” Tony says, gesturing toward the empty chair. “Have a seat.”

Steve does, getting a whiff of Tony's cologne. It's subtle, but really nice.

“James talks about you all the time,” Tony says with a wink. “Always thought it was strange you hadn't been out here before, the way he talks.”

Steve flushes. “Well, it's not a cheap trip, you know,” he starts.

“Don't worry about Tony,” Bucky says, waving a hand toward Tony dismissively. His eyes, though, are intense as he glares at the other man. “He doesn't understand how money works for normal people.”

Tony shrugs a shoulder and takes a sip of his water.

“Actually,” Steve says, feeling his heart pounding in his ears, “I have some news about that. Having come out here, and all.”

Tony looks at him, his gaze oddly intent, but Steve turns toward Bucky. Bucky just looks expectantly back at him, and just as Steve's about to say it, the waitress comes over for their drink orders.

Steve orders first, and asks for a beer.

“Actually –” Clint starts, holding up a hand, but Tony interrupts him.

“It's fine,” he says.

“Tony,” Clint says, but Tony glares at him.

“Don't worry about it, Barton. It's fine.”

Steve looks between them for a moment, and then finally looks across the table at Bucky.

“We don't usually drink,” Bucky says quietly, and Steve feels his face heat up. “But it's okay.”

Tony makes a frustrated sound beside him, and Steve glances over.

“I'm five years sober,” Tony sighs. “But I'm not so weak I can't be around other people drinking.”

Clint rolls his eyes. “No one said you were weak, Tony.”

Steve wishes he could find a hole to crawl into. “I'm sorry, I'll just have a water,” he says to the waitress, who is still there, looking completely nonplussed.

“No, you'll have a beer.”

“Really, Tony, it's okay,” Steve says, staring intently at the table.

“Oh my God. Seriously, I'm fine. I've got my five-year chip. It's not like the sight of beer is going to knock me off the rails. I insist you have the beer. You've travelled all day, and you're here in L.A. for the first time. Someone needs to have a beer. Have the damned beer, or  _ I'll _ have the damned beer.”

Steve stares at him, then at Clint and Bucky. Clint rolls his eyes, but Bucky gives him an encouraging smile.

“Fine,” Steve sighs.

Clint and Bucky order water, and Steve feels like an idiot when his beer comes.

Tony glares at him, waving a hand at the bottle, then crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Steve meets his eyes for a moment, then takes a small sip of the beer. It tastes like ash in his mouth.

“There. See? It's fine,” Tony says, clapping his hands together sharply. He turns to Steve. “I'm changing the subject. James said you work in advertising?”

Steve clears his throat, pushing the beer bottle an inch forward, away from himself, and gives Tony a small smile. “Graphic designer, actually. Well, I was.”

Bucky's head jerks up from where he and Clint seemed to be in a private, silent conversation.

“What do you mean 'was'?”

Steve shrugs, feeling a more genuine smile crawl across his face. He swallows his nervousness.

“I quit.”

Bucky looks up sharply at that.  “You loved that job!”

Steve shrugs. “Sure. But it's not where I wanna be.”

“But I thought – What are you going to do?”

Steve grins across the table at him. “I sent my resume to six different firms here.”

Bucky stares at him for a long moment before a wide smile splits his expression. His eyes light up. “Really? You're moving out here?”

Steve nods happily. “I was gonna surprise you.”

“Stevie, that's awesome!” Bucky crows. “This is gonna be fuckin’  _ awesome _ ! Do you – this is perfect! I was going to rent the house out after the wedding, anyway, when I move into Clint's, you can rent my house!”

Steve feels a little like he's been doused in cold water, but he soldiers on. “I haven't thought too far ahead, I was going to wait and see where I end up getting a job,” he says.

“Where did you apply?” Tony asks, raising one eyebrow and taking another sip of his water.

“Black & Simons, Still Water Media, Anhauser, a couple other ones.”

“Shit, okay, and more shit. Did you apply to Fury & Hill Marketing?” Tony says, his speech suddenly clipped and efficient. Steve blinks at him.

“No? I don't think they were listed as hiring, when I was looking.”  Fury & Hill were one of the best firms out there–their work was completely cutting edge, with some of the best employee compensation policies to boot.  But according to everyone, they didn’t ever hire:  they  _ chose _ .  Steve knew he was still very junior, and hadn’t really built his portfolio yet–he’d been doing the kind of basic entry-level scut work at his old firm that every junior associate did.  He hadn’t even bothered applying to a place like Fury & Hill.

Tony rolls his eyes, and pulls out a business card. He flips it over and writes on the back. It's an email address. “Nick Fury and I go way back. I use them exclusively. I can put in a good word for you, send him your resume.”

Steve blinks again, taking the card. “You don't even know me.”

Tony shrugs. “Are you good at what you do?”

“Yes,” Steve says, trying to sound more confident than he feels, anyway.

“Okay, then,” Tony shrugs, picking up his menu.

Steve flips over the business card.  _ Tony Stark, CEO, Stark Industries, _ it says in a simple black typeface that Steve actually doesn't recognize. He's gotten pretty good at identifying that sort of thing on sight over the last couple of years, and idly wonders if the typeface is a unique one to Stark Industries. He slips the card into his shirt pocket, trying to keep his face from registering his surprise that Tony is a CEO. That Bucky’s hanging out on a Thursday night with a CEO, of all things.

“Thanks, Tony. I appreciate that,” he says sincerely, trying to keep his voice level.

“Don't mention it,” Tony says with a shake of his head. “So, what are we eating?”

Bucky grins at Steve, and Steve can't help but mirror his expression. He just makes a point of not looking at Clint, and he can almost pretend it's just him and Bucky here.

They order food, and it's delicious. They chat, and Clint talks about his job as an archery instructor and Tony talks – vaguely, without giving any actual, tangible details – about his job at Stark Industries, though it sounds to Steve like he does as little work as possible. Bucky doesn't talk much about his work, but there's not a lot to talk about with photography, Bucky’s always said. It’s too bad.  Steve's always liked hearing Bucky talk about what he loves to do,, about shot composition and lighting and frame, about the differences between portraiture and landscape, about how to make his subjects comfortable or not, in order to get exactly what he’s looking for., He  knows that when Bucky's shooting he's happiest, and Steve loves hearing Bucky speak about what he’s so passionate about.  It’s a different kind of art than what Steve does, but Bucky is meticulous about his craft. He's always loved that about Bucky.

Steve finds, against his better judgement, that Clint is funny. He's quick, and witty, and Steve hates him for it. He holds onto his disdain, clutching it close to his chest like a beloved pet.

“So what made you decide to move to L.A.?” Tony asks, after a while, wiping at his mouth with his napkin and meeting Steve's gaze out of the corner of his eye.

Steve takes a few more moments to chew the bite of food in his mouth, to try and decide on a convincing lie. He decides to stick close to the truth.

“I was ready to leave New York,” he says, smiling at Bucky across the table. “Buck always makes it sound so nice out here.”

Tony studies him for a moment, and Steve starts to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“Seems like a flimsy reason to move all the way across the country from Brooklyn,” Tony says, his voice light, but in a way that Steve thinks is maybe not entirely genuine.

Steve shrugs one shoulder, using his fork to stab a piece of chicken on his plate. “I'm young. I don't have any responsibilities – if not now, when?”

Bucky grins at him. “It's gonna be so great to have you around, Stevie.”

Tony just looks at him sideways, and the conversation moves on.

++++++++++

Clint drops Bucky and Steve off at Bucky's house. Steve grits his teeth when Clint kisses Bucky goodnight, and he walks by them, toward the door, trying to ignore their whispered conversation.

“Sure you don't want to stay?” Bucky asks Clint quietly, brushing his soft, gorgeous lips against Clint's jaw.

“You know I want to, babe. But you've got company. Steve deserves some of your time.”

Bucky sighs, and Steve ignores it when Bucky smiles over at him.

“I'll see you tomorrow, then. I love you,” Bucky says, ducking his head for another kiss.

“Love you, too,” Clint says, before slipping back behind the wheel of his stupid, fancy, pretentious car. He drives off with a wave, and Bucky gives Steve a stupid grin while he unlocks the door.

“I missed you, Stevie,” he says, dragging Steve into the house by his wrist, and Steve relishes the tingle of the skin-on-skin contact that shoots up his spine. Bucky sits on the sofa, pulling Steve down beside him. “It's going to be so good to have you around all the time.”

Steve flushes a little. He wants to tell Bucky now, but the memory of watching kisses and murmured words between him and Clint traps the words in his throat.

“Everybody calls you  _ James _ , here,” he says instead, brow furrowing. “It's just so weird.”

Bucky laughs. “Clint thought 'Bucky' was silly, so he's always called me 'James',” he says, shrugging and looking down at the laminate floor.

Steve frowns. “But that's – you're  _ Bucky _ . It suits you.”

Bucky shrugs again. “Clint thought 'James' suited me better. I don't mind, Stevie. Really, the only person who still calls me 'Bucky' is you.”

Steve wants to argue more. He wants to rail about Clint not understanding Bucky the way  _ he _ does. About how they barely know each other and how Clint is trying to change Bucky. But Steve swallows it down. It's not a good sign, he knows, but he'll hold onto it for now. For now, he's just so happy to be with Bucky.

They talk most of the night, reminiscing and laughing. Steve wants to lean forward and kiss Bucky so many times, but he holds back. It's not that he's unsure, he just – he's a little hesitant.  The timing doesn’t seem quite right, not just yet. But that's fine. He can tell Bucky the truth tomorrow. For now, he's just going to enjoy being with his best friend.

Best friend, and love of his life. 

++++++++++

In the morning, Steve and Bucky get into Bucky's (much more modest and realistic) beat-up old Toyota, and Bucky takes him to the Chateau Blanc, which is an opulent, sprawling, almost-Greek style resort out in Malibu.

“Jesus,” Steve breathes, looking around at the rich-looking plants, palm trees and exotic-looking flowers everywhere.

“Isn't it ridiculous?” Bucky asks, a wide, happy grin on his face.

Steve looks at him, looks at the resort, and then back at Bucky.

“Is Clint rich? Is that why you're marrying him? Is he – is he your sugar daddy?” Steve means it almost as a joke, but by the time he gets the words out, his throat has dried and there’s no air, and he wonders if maybe it's true. It would explain –

Bucky is laughing at him, one hand trying to cover his face, trying to hide his hysterics.

“Oh, God, your  _ face _ ,” Bucky cries, and he's off again, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Okay, fine, enough. Ya mook,” Steve mutters, grinning despite himself. God, he loves seeing Bucky laugh like that.

“Seriously,” Bucky says, laughter finally under control. He wipes tears off his face. “Seriously, no. Clint's not rich. I mean, he's not poor, but not rich.”

“So you can afford this place... how?”

“Tony,” Bucky says, grinning proudly. “He told Clint he'd pay for the wedding, and all we had to do was show up. That's his gift to us.”

Steve looks around again. “Seriously? All this?”

Bucky shrugs. “Tony likes to spend his money. I had a hard time with it at first, but Clint explained it to me.”

Steve feels his hackles rise, because Clint just sounds like a condescending asshole, but he ignores it.

“He said Tony has a tough time telling people how he feels. He's not good at interpersonal relationships, and stuff. So he does stuff like this for his friends. His buddy, Rhodey, he bought him a house. For Clint, he buys a wedding.”

“Seems a little – I dunno, are you sure Tony doesn't have, you know, feelings for Clint?” Steve latches onto that – maybe, if he can convince Bucky that Clint and Tony should be together, Bucky will crawl into his arms and –

“Nah. They've known each other for years, Clint says it's not like that.”

“And you don't question it?”

Bucky blinks at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowing down. “No. Of course not. Why would Clint lie to me? He loves me.”

Steve drops it, heart pounding. Maybe he's going to have to be less subtle.

Bucky shows him the beach where he and Clint will say their vows, and Steve wants it to wash away with the tide. Shows him the garden where they'll have dinner, and have their first dance together as husbands. Steve wants to point out all the flaws.  How all the flowers are faded, how the flagstone is cracked, how the place is so very like the place that Bucky’s aunt Elaine got married and which they’d mocked for hours.  But he can’t.  It's beautiful, and scenic, and romantic, despite all its flaws, and even though Steve hates it because it's all Clint's, he knows it’s a bit Bucky’s too.  And Bucky just seems so  _ happy _ , Steve can’t ruin it for him.  Not yet, anyway. Besides, Steve knows that his and Bucky’s wedding, one day, will be amazing, too.  Maybe it won’t be as opulent, maybe it won’t be as flashy, but that’s okay.  It will be perfect, Steve knows, because it will be  _ theirs.   _ But for now, Bucky is smiling, wide and joyful, and so Steve nods, and smiles, and tries to look enthusiastic.

He and Bucky will have their own perfect wedding one day.  Steve knows they will. He just needs Bucky to know it, too.

++++++++++

“He worries about you, you know,” Clint says the next day. They’re sitting in Bucky’s living room, waiting for Bucky to get off the phone with a photography client in the other room before they go to dinner.  They’d been sitting in awkward silence while Bucky pretended to play with his phone and Clint stared at the wall or something.  What an idiot.

“I worry about him,” Steve grunts. What the hell is this guy trying to say? As if he knows  _ anything _ about Bucky.  As if he knows anything about Steve.

“I’m – I’m trying to say I’m glad you came out here. He was worried, you know. Worried you wouldn’t come. That you couldn’t – anyway, you’re here, and you look like you’re – I mean, James said you were sick a lot? Before?” Clint runs a hand over his hair, clearly uncomfortable. Steve is petulantly pleased by it. “But you look pretty healthy,” he continues. “And – well, I just wanted you to know, it’s good you finally came out here. You’re important to James, and that means you’re important to me.”

Steve barely manages to stop himself from snorting.  _ Who does this guy think he’s talking to? _ Does he really think Steve’s that much of a gullible idiot? He’s known Bucky for all of five minutes, and now he wants to make Steve feel bad because Bucky cares about him? Whatever.

“I used to be sick,” he says. “But Bucky always worried too much. I grew up, though. Happens.”

“Well, you know, even if we’re getting married soon, our door will always be open.  James has a lot of family and friends, I know, but we both hope that you’ll all visit whenever you can.”

“Sure,” says Steve, though it’s clear as day what Clint is really saying, and he should really know better – Steve’s not the kind of guy that can be warned off. 

He remembers, though, the day Bucky was leaving Brooklyn. Steve had been sitting on his bed while he packed up his things in the apartment they’d shared together. Steve had already found a subletter for Bucky’s half – some guy named Scott, who’d turned out to be neat, quiet, and a pretty nice guy – but it wasn’t the same.

“That’s it,” Bucky had said, closing up his suitcase and looking up at Steve. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Buck, I’m not the one moving across the country.”

“I know, Stevie, but – you’ll remember to eat, right? And avoid dairy?”

“Yes,  _ Mom _ .”

“And to take your medication every morning next month – you know how bad your allergies get in the spring.”

“Oh my  _ God _ .”

“I’m not kidding, Steve. I won’t be – I won’t be here, and so I need you to be okay. I can have Becca –”

“Bucky, you are not seriously suggesting you send your little sister to check up on me?”

“I know but – you’ll call, right? If you need anything – anything at all.”

“I’ll call.”

“I hate leaving you,” Bucky said.

_ Don’t go _ , Steve thought. But “will you get out of here?” was what he actually said.

But Bucky knew him,  _ knows _ him, and had drawn him into a hug he needed more than air in that moment. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Stevie,” Bucky said, fierce and hoarse, holding Steve close. “You’re family. You’re my family, and you always will be. Nothing will ever change that. You need anything, you call. Promise me, okay? Promise.”

“I promise,” Steve had said, forcing a laugh and holding back the tears that threatened. “Now let’s get you to the airport before you miss your plane, you big sap.”

“Anyway,” Clint says, drawing Steve’s attention back into Bucky’s living room, blinking away that little Brooklyn apartment. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

_ Yeah, I’ll just bet you are, _ Steve thinks, and gives the other man a tight smile. 

++++++++++

The next day, Bucky and Steve have lunch at a little diner that reminds Steve of the one he worked at through high school. Bucky would come in and order a milkshake, then sit at the counter and nurse it for hours, until Steve got off work and they could go hang out. When Steve's mom was working nights, they'd head from the diner to Steve's apartment, and they'd sit and watch movies until they both fell asleep on the couch, and more often than not, Steve would wake up with his head on Bucky's shoulder.

After Steve's mother’s funeral, he and Bucky had sat in the diner all night, staring at the beat up formica counter top, while Bucky waited for Steve to let the tears out.

He hadn't. Instead, he'd let Bucky take him back to the Barnes' house, and they'd thrown the couch cushions on the floor the way they used to when they were kids, and slept there for most of the day.

Steve had moved in with his grandmother until after graduation, and then they’d gotten an apartment together until Bucky moved out to L.A.

He smiles softly as he looks around the little restaurant.

“Right?” Bucky says, grinning at him. “Exactly like the one you worked at.”

“You remembered.”

Bucky scoffs. “Course I remembered. I spent most of my formative years there.” He shrugs. “Milkshakes aren't as good here, though.”

“How are the girls?” Steve asks when they dig into their burgers, referring to Bucky's sisters. He dips a french fry into the little pool of ketchup he's swirled on one side of his plate.

“Girls are good. Becca's got a boyfriend she won’t shut up about.”

Steve snickers. “And what about Katie and Jules?”

Bucky shrugs. “You know that age where girls are psychotic, and awful, and completely crazy?”

Steve laughs.

“They won't even talk to me if I go to the house. They both go up to their rooms and they won't talk to anyone.”

“Could be worse, I suppose,” Steve says at Bucky's grin. “They could actively want to yell at you.”

“God help us all.”

“Remember when they were little? And all they'd do is follow you around, trying to get you to play with them?”

Bucky grins. “But I was too cool to play with my baby sisters. Too busy keeping you out of trouble, anyway.”

Steve snorts. “Hardly. More often than not you got me into it.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose up in mock offence. Steve wants to kiss him.

“I can't even count the amount of times I had to save you from getting your ass handed to you behind a dumpster,” Bucky counters.

“Three, Buck. The number is three. I know that's difficult for you.”

Bucky grins at him, taking another bite of his burger. “'Course, back then, a gentle breeze could knock you over. You ain't that little scrappy guy anymore.”

Steve flushes, pleased at Bucky noticing his body, but trying not to read too much into it. “I got a growth spurt and started lifting weights. Not that big a deal.”

“No, it is, Steve,” Bucky says seriously. “I'm real proud of you.”

Steve flushes again, ducking his head. He takes a sip of his drink to try and hide his embarrassment at the praise.

“Pretty sure I could still take you in a fight, though,” Bucky continues, eyes twinkling, and Steve balls up his napkin and throws it in his face, laughing.

He can think of nowhere else he’d rather be, and he wishes he could stay in this moment forever. 

++++++++++

They go meet Bucky's family for dinner. They all fawn over Steve, and Becca blushes every time she looks at him, and Steve feels good. He's missed them all, as well – they'd been his second family, especially after his mom died, and when they’d all moved away, only a couple months after Bucky had – well, it was then he’d felt truly alone.  But George, Bucky’s dad, had gotten a transfer with his company shortly after Bucky had moved to L.A., and the whole family had wound up moving out to the area, while Steve had just … been left behind.

Bucky’s family had always been close.

Winnie gives him a hug and and a kiss on the cheek after dinner, when they're parting ways, and smiles up at him.

“We missed you, kiddo. It’s good to have you here.”

Steve gives her another quick squeeze. “I missed you guys, too.”

“We're so glad you could come out for the wedding,” she says. “It wouldn't be the same without you.”

“You don't think it's awful fast?” Steve says quietly, chewing on his bottom lip. He'd thought for sure Bucky's parents would disapprove of the quick marriage. Winnie shrugs. “At first, maybe a little. But we like Clint. He's really good to Jimmy.”

Steve doesn't say anything. He'd been really certain he'd have an easy time getting Bucky's parents on his side of things. He'd even thought, maybe, he could get them to help him make Bucky realize they were meant to be together.

“Anyway,” Winnie says, squeezing his hand. “We'll see you again soon, won't we?”

“Absolutely,” Steve says, giving her a genuine smile. Winnie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can't help but wonder if she knows about his feelings. Winnie was always able to pick up on whatever Steve was feeling.

He doesn't ask her, though, because Bucky comes up behind them and throws an arm around each of them, giving his mom a kiss on the cheek.

“I'll call you next week, Ma,” he says. “Stevie and I have plans now.”

“We do?” Steve asks, basking in the warmth of Bucky's body beside him.

“We're meeting Clint and Tony to talk wedding plans. I mentioned it to you this afternoon, didn't I?”

Steve shrugs. He'd forgotten, having been having such a good time with the Barnes family – Katie and Jules' imperious teenage silence notwithstanding.

“Oh, well. Don't let us keep you,” George says, pulling Winnie away and grinning at them. “By all means. Go plan the fancy wedding I don't have to pay for.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at his father, but nudges Steve with his shoulder anyway so that they start to veer toward his car. “Talk to you later, guys,” he calls over his shoulder, and Steve turns to give them a quick wave.

But when he looks back, he sees that Winnie is staring at him, compassion in her dark eyes – along with a hint of warning. Steve looks away quickly. He feels like her eyes can see straight through him. 

++++++++++

Bucky drives them back out to Malibu, and they take a winding, solitary road up to an architecturally magnificent building. As they drive up, Steve can see it's built into the cliff, overlooking the ocean. He can't help but gawk around, eyes wide.

“What is this place? Another fancy resort?”

Bucky snickers at him as he pulls up to the looping driveway. “This, Stevie, would be Tony's house.”

“I'm sorry, his what?” Steve blinks at Bucky.

“His house. Where he lives.”

Steve looks around again, at the perfectly manicured lawn, at the pristine curves of the building. The exotic plants in the middle of the driveway. Clint's Plymouth is parked behind a white Maserati in the driveway, and Bucky pulls up behind it.

“Tony lives here.” Steve can't quite put enough inflection in his voice to make it a question.

“I know his card says CEO on it. You can't be that surprised.”

“I just – I've never met anyone who lived in a place like this.”

Bucky shrugs. “You get used to it.”

“To knowing millionaires?”

Bucky smirks at him, parking the car and climbing out. Steve follows him toward the front door. “Billionaire. Technically. And I mean you get used to knowing Tony.”

Steve shakes his head as they move to the door. “I don't think I could ever get used to a place like this.”

Steve, having grown up in a small apartment with a single mother who worked as a nurse, can't keep himself from whipping his head around as they walk into the foyer.

“Welcome to Mr. Stark's home,” a disembodied voice says with a British accent. Steve looks around for the source. The voice echos in a way that makes it sound as though it's coming through speakers.

“Hiya, J. Where are Clint and Tony?” Bucky asks, not breaking stride.

Steve keeps looking around, looking for the source even as the voice responds.

“Mr. Stark and Mr. Barton are in the gymnasium at present. Mr. Stark expressed a desire for you and your guest to please join them, Mr. Barnes.”

Steve stares at Bucky in question.

“That's Jarvis,” Bucky says, his voice smug and amused. “He’s a computer. He runs the house.”

Steve dazedly follows him through the mansion, through to the back, to a wide expanse of workout equipment. Between the doorway and the floor-to-ceiling windows, with their gorgeous ocean views showcasing the beginnings of what is probably going to be a spectacular sunset, sits a large, white boxing ring.

In it, Clint and Tony are trading blows.

Steve doesn't even hear Bucky's sound of appreciation through the rushing in his ears.

Both men are shirtless, glistening with sweat, bouncing from foot to foot as they spar. Steve’s eyes are drawn directly to the muscles in Tony's back, which ripple as his right arm hooks out in a punch. Clint dodges back, then Tony ducks the answering blow, coming around to Clint's other side so now Steve can see his front – slick, sweaty pecs and abs, and a little trail of dark hair from his navel, disappearing down into his red boxing shorts.

Steve swallows, his mouth dry, and tries to look away. He finds that he can’t. Tony looks past Clint's shoulder and grins around his mouthguard, raising a red glove in greeting.

Clint whirls, spitting his own mouthguard into his glove and bouncing through the ropes toward Bucky.

“Hey, baby, how was your day?” he says, grinning and panting, as he leans up for a kiss. Bucky obliges, but Steve only notices peripherally. He's still too busy staring at Tony.

Tony, more slowly, uses his teeth to unfasten his gloves, gracefully slipping between the ropes of the ring, and hopping down to stand in front of Steve.

“Good to see you again, Brooklyn,” he says, and Steve could swear Tony had just looked him up and down, head to toe and back. Steve swallows drily again.

“Nice place,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but his voice comes out a little gravelly.

Tony smirks at him, and wipes down his face with a towel. He grabs a grey hooded sweatshirt off the boxing ring's corner post and slips it over his shoulders – Steve mourns the loss of the view of his back – then takes a swig from his water bottle. “Interested in the nickel tour?”

Steve makes a small, amused sound. “I don't think I have enough nickels.” He tries not to stare at the way the open sweatshirt frames Tony's chest and stomach.

Tony gives him a wink, then lets his hand hover over the small of Steve's back, guiding him out of the room. Steve can feel the heat of his skin, and part of him wouldn't mind if Tony actually touched him, actually made contact.

He glances behind him, but Bucky and Clint aren't following.

Tony rolls his eyes, not slowing down as they walk out of the room. “Don't worry about the lovebirds,” he says, voice cheerful. “They've been apart almost 24 hours, so they won't even notice we're gone for at least half an hour. Besides, they already know their way around.”

Steve manages not to sigh forlornly, and follows Tony down the hall.

Tony shows him the atrium, the theatre, all nine bedrooms, six opulent, ridiculously rich-looking bathrooms, a study, a drawing room, and a library. There's a large reception hall on the second floor, overlooking the pool, that Tony calls his 'party room'.

“What does one person need with all this space?” Steve blurts out, as they're making their way back toward the other end of the house.

He looks over at Tony, just in time to see Tony's eyes shutter closed, and winces. He realizes that was a little on the rude side.

“I'm sorry, that was –” he starts.

Tony cuts him off. “It's fine, Handsome. You're right, though. I'm not even home that much anyway.”

“No?”

“I travel a lot. For work. Conferences and expos, that kind of thing.”

“Right. That makes sense.” Steve pauses, then gestures toward an innocuous set of stairs leading down from the main floor. “What's downstairs?”

“Hm? Oh, just the workshop. That's off limits.”

“Top secret projects down there?” Steve asks jokingly.

“Yes,” Tony replies seriously.

“Right.” Steve feels uncomfortable again, like he can't stop saying the wrong things.

They pass another big window, curving with the lines of the building, with a big, curved sofa following the same line in front of it. They walk up two steps onto a platform, and Tony opens another door, gesturing for Steve to enter first.

It's a huge room, again with the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. The floor is white marble, and there's an expensive-looking telescope pointed up toward the top of the window, which overlooks the wide, blue sea below. A single chair and small table sit beside the telescope. Off to another side, there's another sofa, in some sort of charcoal-grey, chenille-looking fabric.  It looks like rich people’s furniture, but not very comfortable. The room is big, and open, and ostentatious, and there’s recognizably famous art on a few of the walls. By which Steve means that he actually recognizes the pieces because he’d studied them in art history classes, which is insane.  

At the end of the room is a wide, oversized king bed, covered in silk sheets.

And while Tony has already shown Steve nine bedrooms in the house, he knows, without a doubt, that this must be Tony's room.

_if you have downloaded this work to read on a mobile device, you can click[here](https://68.media.tumblr.com/d222a7f5c927478e4a51ba4aa68b70c9/tumblr_ohbkdrac0Q1u78j6zo2_540.jpg) to see the art._

Steve can’t help but take a closer look at the art Tony’s chosen for his bedroom. The pieces are cohesive, he notes, but Steve feels like they don't suit Tony all that well. As though they had been chosen for show or status, not for love of the art.

Tony moves up behind him, and Steve can feel the heat radiating off of him. He swallows, his body stilling with nerves.

“So, Sunshine,” Tony says, and Steve wonders if Tony's voice has really dropped an octave, or if he's just imagining it. “How'd you enjoy the tour?”

“Uh... it was ... it was good,” he manages to reply. “We should – we should get back to – we were gonna...”

“Of course. I just wanted to make sure you knew your way around. You know, in case you wind up over here again,” Tony purrs.

And Steve's not stupid. Well, not  _ really _ stupid. The point is, he's caught on  _ now _ , and Tony is definitely flirting with him.

Oh, God. He has to get out of this room – he needs to let Tony know he's not interested without actually telling him the truth about how he feels about Bucky.  _ That _ wouldn't go well.

So Steve takes a step forward, out of Tony's range, while turning back toward the door, and gives Tony a wide berth as he heads out to the hall, to the big window and the platform and the big couch.

He hears Tony chuckle behind him, and once he's out of the room, back in the openness of the mansion, he feels better – his heart is still pounding, but he doesn't feel so trapped, so unsure.

Tony moves beside him, easy smile on his face.

“Another time, then,” Tony says, quietly, still smiling, and Steve wants to argue, to tell Tony there won't be another time – there won't be  _ any _ time, but Tony keeps going. “All of the wedding planning stuff is in the library – I've let Clint and James set up a little war room there. Do you remember the way?”

“Yeah,” Steve manages to say, his voice still tight and breathless.

“Good. I'm going to hop in the shower, and meet you boys down there. I'm a little sweaty,” Tony says, ducking his head conspiratorially with a wink, and Steve has to swallow hard again, images of Tony under the hot, steamy spray of a shower coming into his brain unbidden.

Tony stands there, just for a moment, as though purposely giving Steve time to think about it, and then turns back toward the bedroom. Steve supposes there's an ensuite in there, as well. That one room is probably bigger than his whole apartment – an apartment he once shared with Bucky – was in Brooklyn.

“If you get lost, just ask Jarvis,” Tony calls back over his shoulder, and Steve shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present, before walking down the hall toward where he thinks the library is.

It isn't long before he realizes he's lost. He's about to turn back the way he'd come, and try again, when the disembodied British voice bursts out of the walls.

“Excuse me, Mr. Rogers, but you appear to be lost. Would you like me to assist you toward the library?”

“Uh, sure, please, thank you ... uh... Mr. Jarvis,” Steve says, wincing at how he sounds to his own ears.

“Just Jarvis is sufficient, Mr. Rogers. Please follow the lights.”

Soft, blue lights hidden in the baseboards along the walls light up one at a time, back the way he'd come and then turning to the left, which, now that he's been reminded, he knows is where the library is.

He smiles up at the ceiling. “Thanks, Jarvis,” he says, feeling only slightly silly. “You're a pretty impressive computer.”

“The term 'computer' is incomplete. I am a unique artificial intelligence built and programmed by Mr. Stark to run his home, his schedule, and several other parts of his day-to-day life. My programming dictates that I do any and all things within my power to ensure Mr. Stark is happy, healthy and safe.”

Steve feels his face flame, and can't shake the feeling that he's just been put in his place by a computer. “Right. Sorry. I didn't mean any offence.”

“I am not capable of taking offence, Mr. Rogers,” Jarvis says, but Steve thinks he hears just enough haughtiness in the tone to counter the words.

Steve narrows his eyes at the ceiling, feeling foolish.

“Well, you can call me Steve, if you want,” he finally says. “You don't have to call me 'Mr. Rogers.'”

“As you wish, Steve,” Jarvis says, as the blue lights stop lighting up at the door to the library. Steve refuses to believe he can detect a bit of pleased satisfaction in the tone.

Steve opens the door to the library, and steps inside.

Clint and Bucky are sitting at a long oak table, heads together, an array of photographs spread out in front of them. They look up when he enters, and Steve's face tightens when Clint raises an eyebrow at him. As thought Clint's surprised to see him.

“Thought you'd be longer,” Clint says, sitting back. “Tony said he wanted to show you  _ everything _ .”

There's just enough innuendo in his tone that Steve's face heats.

Bucky chuckles beside Clint. “Come on, babe. Tony's not really Steve's type,” he says with a shrug.

Clint snorts. “Never stopped Tony before.”

“I'm standing right here,” Steve reminds them, jaw clenching.

“Sure, Stevie. Sorry.” Bucky has the good grace to look a little shamed, but Clint is just meeting his gaze, eyes dancing. “I'm just saying. I like Tony, but he's a total playboy,” Bucky continues. “It's good you're not falling for his charms. You wouldn't be a good fit.”

“I don't know,” Clint says thoughtfully, tilting his head to watch Steve's expression. Steve struggles not to blush. Clint winks. “They might fit together just fine.”

“No, they wouldn't,” Bucky says tightly.

There's something in Bucky's face. In his voice.

Steve realizes it after another few moments. Could Bucky be ...  _ jealous? _

Could Bucky actually return his feelings? He files the thought away, and moves to sit on Bucky's other side, and glance down at the photos arrayed on the table. Each photo is of a different type of flower arrangement, and they're not organized in any way that Steve can decipher.

“What are we looking at?” he asks.

“Flowers,” Clint pipes up helpfully. “James here has decided that even though Tony's paying for the whole kit and caboodle, he doesn't want the wedding planner to 'make all the choices.'”

Steve raises an eyebrow at Bucky.

“Come on!” Bucky says, frustration in his tone. “This is our wedding. It should be exactly what  _ we _ want, not what someone tells us we should have.”

“But do you even know what you want?” Clint says, crossing his arms. “If you don't actually know the  _ difference _ between hydrangeas and rhododendrons, then I don't see why you're making such a big deal about which ones go in the centerpieces.”

Bucky's entire demeanour changes, and Steve watches gleefully. He knows that body language – the tight jaw, the clenched fingers. Maybe he doesn't actually have to put any effort into getting Clint and Bucky to break up after all. Maybe he just needs to talk about flowers. He searches his brain for anything he's read, anything he learned in his art classes, and a slow grin spreads across his face as he remembers a helpful tidbit.

“Actually, different flowers have lots of different meanings,” he says, trying to make his voice sound cheery and helpful. “Like, rhododendrons are toxic, so they actually mean 'danger.' I don't know if that's great symbolism for a wedding.”

“See?” Bucky crows, jaw still tight. “Steve gets it! Do you want our marriage to be  _ doomed _ ?”

“Jesus, you're being a little melodramatic, don't you think? Some stupid made-up flower meaning isn't going to  _ doom _ our marriage.” Clint rolls his eyes, and Steve watches with rapt attention.

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky growls. “You said you were good with hands-on wedding planning, but all you do is make fun of everything. Do you not want to be doing this? Do you not give a shit at all?

“Actually, James, no. No, I do not give one single, solitary shit. All of this? This is for you. You're the one with sisters and parents and aunts and uncles you're trying to impress. I don't need any of this bullshit – we could go to the courthouse tomorrow and sign the paperwork, it doesn't matter to me.”

“Jesus, you can be such an asshole,” Bucky growls, turning toward the door. Steve's stomach sinks – he can hear in Bucky's voice that he's actually really upset, and he feels a little responsible. “I'm not doing this in front of Stevie.”

“James, wait,” Clint calls, even as Bucky disappears out the library doors. Steve gives him a pained look and follows after.

“Call me when you start giving a shit!” Bucky calls, already partway down the hall.

Just as Steve catches up to him, they meet Tony coming around a corner in the hall.

“What's going on?” Tony asks, looking between the two of them. Bucky keeps walking, headed for the front door of the mansion.

“Your friend is a dick,” he mutters to Tony as he passes, and Steve shrugs helplessly. Tony's lip turns up at the corner.

“You think it's funny that they're fighting?” Steve asks, stopping short and blinking at Tony incredulously.

Tony shrugs one shoulder. “This isn't new, Sunshine. They fight every time they sit down to wedding plans. I'm actually surprised James didn't storm out of here twenty minutes ago.”

“So – so they fight a lot?” Steve asks. It's what he wants – the first step to Bucky being single again – but at the same time, he feels bad about it. His best friend shouldn't have to live with a relationship where they fight all the time.

Tony rolls his eyes. “With those two? It's practically foreplay. They'll make up by tomorrow, you'll see.” Tony's expression changes, and he waggles his eyebrows at Steve suggestively. “And you'll need to find something to entertain you while they make with the loud, marathon make-up sex. For which I, of course, humbly offer my services.”

Steve's heart clenches, and he feels a blush rise to his cheeks. He can't decide whether to find the thought of Bucky and Clint having sex painful, or captivated by the idea of what Tony could get up to in order to distract Steve.

He settles on not acknowledging the comment at all, and follows Bucky out to the car.

He slides into the passenger seat, and Bucky is clenching his hands around the steering wheel, hands white-knuckled, and staring straight ahead.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks gently, turning to face his friend.

“I was mean,” Bucky finally says, after a moment.

“You weren't. He was mean. Bucky, if you don't –”

“He doesn't have any family,” Bucky says, interrupting him. He puts the car in drive and pulls out of Tony's driveway, starting down the winding road to the highway, headed home. “I don't know if I told you that. His parents died when he was little. He has a brother, but they don't talk at all. They had a falling out, or something. Clint doesn't talk about it, but he doesn't have anyone. Not like I do – my parents, and the girls, and you, and... he doesn't have anyone.”

Steve doesn't answer, not sure what to say.  Despite himself, he kind of gets it, a little – aside from Bucky, Steve doesn’t have anyone either.  

Except that when he and Bucky get married, all the flowers and outfits and stuff – that stuff won’t be for Steve’s friends and family.  Or even Bucky’s.  It’ll be just be for them, whatever they want.  Steve will want it to be perfect, but he’ll want it to be perfect for no one but them.  And he’ll want Bucky to be happy.  He’ll care, because he wants what Bucky wants.  

If Clint were right for Bucky, this wouldn’t have ever been a problem.

But Bucky is still speaking, bulldozing right over Steve’s logic. “So I shouldn't push. I know that. The big wedding, that's for me. That's for my family, so I can show him off, so I can celebrate with everyone I love, and they can celebrate with me – but it's not for him. He doesn't have anyone except Tony and me to invite.”

Steve doesn't say anything, because he knows Bucky can’t hear it, not right now. They drive the rest of the way home in silence, and when they get back to Bucky's, Bucky goes straight to his bedroom. 

Steve stands in the living room for a moment, feeling lost. It seems early, but with nothing better to do, he goes to his own room and crawls into bed. 

++++++++++

The next day, while Steve and Bucky are eating lunch in the kitchen, the doorbell rings. Bucky goes to answer it, and when he comes back, he's straining under the weight of a massive vase full of flowers. There are flowers of all types, and Steve would suggest a lot of them don't ordinarily go together – but there's a visual cohesiveness that shouldn't make sense yet somehow does.

Steve blinks at it. There's a letter-sized envelope attached to the vase. Bucky tears it off, opening it and flipping open the single sheet of paper.

“ _ Amaryllis for worth beyond beauty, because you are everything, _ ” Bucky reads aloud, voice tight with emotion. “ _ Anemone for anticipation, because I can't wait to be your husband. Aster for patience, because I ask you to be patient with me. Red Chrysanthemum because I will always be true to you, and we will live a long life together full of love. Daffodils for our new beginning, Hydrangea because I am so grateful to have you in my life, Peonies for our happy marriage, and Tulips and Roses to show you how much I love you. Our wedding flowers should be Primrose so the whole world knows I can't live without you. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.  I’ll try harder.  Our wedding will be beautiful, and I can't wait to marry you. _ ”

Steve swallows the lump in his throat, as Bucky looks up at him, eyes bright and face splitting into a joyful smile.

“God, I love this guy,” Bucky sighs, pulling his phone out of his pocket quickly. Steve doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing as Bucky connects the call, and walks back to his bedroom, grilled cheese sandwich forgotten on the table. He can hear the tone, if not the words, of the soft conversation through the wall, and he hates how intimate it sounds.

He feels trapped in his skin, suddenly, and goes to his room and changes quickly. “I'm going for a run,” he says loudly through Bucky's bedroom door, but Bucky is still talking in hushed, happy tones, and doesn't respond. Steve doesn't hesitate, and stalks out the door, setting himself up for a hard pace and running down the sidewalk.

When he comes back an hour later, he feels better. Less trapped in loss and guilt, as though he's intruding on Bucky's happiness. A happiness that's supposed to be his. The memory of Bucky's face lighting up as he connected that phone call makes his heart swell, but his throat is tight with the knowledge that Bucky has that with someone else.

He's regrouped, and he feels strong again. So when he walks into Bucky's house and Bucky is waiting for him, he just feels happiness.

“Listen, Stevie, I hope you don't mind but I'm gonna bail on dinner,” Bucky starts, as soon as he walks in the door, still panting from his workout. Steve feels like he's been doused with cold water again. “Clint and I – we made up, and I gotta see him. I don't know why I went so crazy.”

Steve wants to beg him, to tell him that he and Clint fight because they aren't meant to be, but the words won't come.

“I'll leave you the car. He's on his way to pick me up. You'll be okay, right?”

And Steve knows that even though Bucky's asking the question, the wild hope in his eyes, the silent pleading, means he  _ needs _ Steve to be okay with it, for Steve to be all right by himself.  And Steve never could help but give Bucky anything he needs.

“Of course. I'll be fine.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” he says, pulling Steve into a hug. He glances out the window just as Clint's Plymouth pulls up. “You're the best.”

Bucky goes, and Steve sits on the sofa, head in his hands. He knows that right now, Bucky and Clint are probably kissing, exchanging intimate touches.  They could even be headed straight to Clint's, to bed.  _ They probably are _ , his traitorous brain whispers at him, and the images assaulting Steve's brain at that thought are torturous.

Steve stands, groaning in frustration, and heads for the shower to clean up after his run. He slips sweat pants on after, not bothering with a shirt.  He pulls out his Kindle, looking for something, anything, to read to pass the time.

He's been reading for a long time, when there's a knock on Bucky's front door.

Steve glances at the clock. Almost seven. He moves to the door, and opens it only to find Tony standing on the doorstep.

Tony is wearing jeans and a faded out T-shirt. He looks tired and a bit apprehensive.  Up until now, Steve has only seen him in a suit or in work-out gear, so the way the jeans cling to his hips, the way the soft fabric of the cotton shirt slides over his shoulders, is a revelation.  It makes Steve want to reach out a hand and feel the planes of muscle under the clothes.  The exhaustion in his eyes makes Steve want to reach up and smooth out the lines near them.

Steve clenches his hand into a fist and resists.

“The lovebirds are holed up 'forgiving' each other,” Tony says with a smirk, looking him up and down. “Need someone to have dinner with?”

“That's not –” Steve has to clear his throat, his voice comes out choked. “That's not necessary.”

Steve is suddenly very aware that he's not wearing a shirt.  That he is, in fact, wearing only thread-bare, low-riding grey sweat pants. He meets Tony's eyes, and has to swallow at the way the older man's pupils have darkened.

“I don't mind. Let me take you to dinner. Nothing fancy,” he says, gesturing to his own outfit, and Steve tries not to let his own gaze linger.

“Look, Tony, this isn't – Clint said you're a playboy. You should know, I'm not interested.” He has to put a stop to this flirting. He's here in L.A. for one reason only: Bucky. Tony is a distraction he doesn't have time for.

Tony laughs, and Steve kind of likes the way his whole face softens with it.

“Don't get me wrong, Sunshine. I'd  _ love _ to climb that particular tree.” Tony eyes him up and down again. “But we can just hang out. We  _ are _ going to be co-best men, after all.”

The mental image of Tony crawling up his body, maybe letting Steve press him against the wall, grinding together – Steve feels it tighten low in his belly, feels his face heat up, and swallows hard.

“I'm just – casual sex. I'm not interested in – in doing that,” Steve says.

“But are you interested in me?” Tony asks, suddenly serious.

“I – no,” Steve says, face heating again. It's not  _ really _ a lie. He can't deny Tony is attractive, and wicked, and flirtatious, and –

But that's not what he's here for, he reminds himself sternly. He's here to make Bucky fall in love with him, and so, no, he's not interested in flirting with Tony.

Tony just holds his eye for a moment, then nods. Steve swallows, trying not to notice Tony's eyes shuttering. He feels guilty – that's the second time he's brought that look to Tony's face.

He's not a fan of that look.

“Fine,” Tony says, mouth smiling. His eyes are still a little cool, though. “We can still have dinner, I guess. Dinner doesn't mean we have to fuck.”

Steve feels a little taken aback by the crudeness of the language but he gets the feeling Tony's doing it on purpose, so he doesn't react.

Tony notices anyway, and gives Steve a more genuine smile.

“Seriously, Brooklyn,” he says, gently. “A friendly dinner.”

Steve wants to ask why Tony never calls him by his name, why it's always nicknames, but he doesn't. He sighs, and steps back from the doorway, wondering if he still has any clean shirts, and which of his clean pants are nice enough to go out in public in.  “I need to change,” he says to Tony. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Tony winks at him as he turns toward the hallway, calling out silkily, “Oh, don't put on a shirt on my account.” Steve gives him a scathing look over his shoulder, and keeps walking. “Really. I couldn't  _ possibly _ ask you to do that for me!”

He's chuckling to himself, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and Steve turns his head forward to avoid looking at the way the action has framed Tony's crotch. 

He  _ really  _ needs to get dressed. 

++++++++++

Dinner with Tony is surprisingly easy. Tony drives his ridiculously expensive sports car too fast, and Steve thinks he's probably going to die by the time they get to the little out-of-the-way Italian joint, and Tony laughs at the way he’s obvious about his fear of death.  The restaurant itself  _ is _ fairly casual, despite Steve’s worries, so he doesn't feel too out of place in his jeans and T-shirt. Tony doesn't stop the flirting, both during the drive and through dinner, but he's dialled it down enough that Steve almost wonders if it's not Tony's default setting. It's not aggressive enough to make Steve uncomfortable, but it's still noticeable.

It kind of makes Steve feel nice. Flattered.

Wanted.

And, sure, since he'd started working out, since he'd managed to bulk up to his current physique, he's gotten used to being noticed. Being flirted with. He's even dated a few people – never anything serious, of course. Just the odd time, so he’d have some practice, so Bucky wouldn’t think he was the first person Steve had ever dated, so that Bucky would know that Steve wasn’t with him because he was hiding from the rest of the world (something Bucky had suggested, once, too late at night and when they’d both been so drunk they’d started over-sharing – but that Steve had actually chosen him.  That he knew exactly what he wanted, and that what he wanted was Bucky, the guy he’d known since Pre-K, who’d been with him through sickness and death and everything in-between, the one person he couldn’t imagine his life without. 

Bucky, who was the only surviving family, blood or no, that he had left. He couldn’t lose Bucky.  Not ever, and not for anything.  But still, that skinny little boy inside him flushes with pleasure every time Tony winks at him, or grins, or brushes a hand against Steve's own. He chalks it up to pride – he has no interest in Tony. It doesn't matter that Tony’s handsome or smart or funny, it matters that he's not Bucky. 

But still, he tells himself, the attention is nice.

Tony recommends the pasta bolognese, and while a part of Steve wants to be stubborn and order something else, he orders it anyway. They drink lemon water, and when Steve orders his, Tony gives him a look.

“What? I want water.”

“Sure. Young, strapping guy like you. On vacation, first time in L.A. Drinking water.”

Steve can't help it – he snorts a small huff of a laugh. “Water's good for you. Eight to ten glasses a day, according to the government.”

The corner of Tony's mouth turns up. “You always been so concerned with your health?”

Steve shrugs a little. “I was sick a lot as a kid,” he says. He instantly wonders why he's telling Tony this. It's not something he usually talks about with anyone but Bucky – Buck had, after all, been there.

“Yeah? East coast winters?”

Steve grins. “And east coast summers. I suffered from every allergy there was, asthma, I constantly had bronchitis or pneumonia. There were a few times my mom was worried I wouldn’t survive basic childhood, I was such a disaster.  I was maybe 90 lbs soaking wet all through high school. It was a little sad.”

Tony makes a show of looking at Steve's chest, then back up to his face.

“Growth spurt?” he asks, voice flat but still somewhat teasing.

Steve takes a sip of his water. “And some hard work.” He shrugs.

“Don't shrug it off, Steve,” Tony says, seriously, arching an eyebrow. “You worked hard. You get to be proud of that.”

And Steve can only swallow roughly at Tony's heartfelt tone, and the fact that he's called him by his actual name.

They just look at each other for a moment, and Tony smiles.  Steve likes it, likes seeing it, thinks maybe that Tony is happy to be there, to be spending time with him.  Steve thinks maybe, he might – he could –

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he startles, blinking. Tony keeps looking at him for a moment, then sits back in his chair, expression closing off as he sits back and gestures toward the audible buzzing.

“Sorry,” Steve says, face hot, as he pulls it out and glances at the screen. It's a text from Bucky.

_ I'm not coming home tonight. You're OK alone, right?? _

There's that cold water again. He can feel his expression sour, and takes a deep breath before typing out a quick reply –  _ ok _ – and looking back up at Tony.

“You done?” Tony asks, waving a hand dismissively at Steve's plate. He hadn't been – had been enjoying the meal, and the company, but Tony seems cooler, and balls his napkin up and throws it across his own plate. “I can drop you at James'.”

“Uh... sure. Thanks, Tony.”

“Not a thing. Don't worry about it.” Tony waves over their server and hands him a credit card. “My treat.”

Steve goes to argue, but Tony's not even looking at him now, patting his pockets and collecting himself to leave. He enters his PIN on the pad that the server brings over, and leads the way out of the restaurant to the car.

His driving is somehow even more terrifying on the way back to Bucky's house, but Steve doesn't really notice. He can't help but feel like he's done something to hurt Tony's feelings. He's not sure what it was.

“Thanks,” he says, when Tony pulls up to the curb, both hands on the steering wheel and not looking at Steve. “For dinner,” he adds. “It was nice.”

“I had some time to kill,” Tony says dismissively.

“Right. Well, still. I appreciate it.”

He gets out of the car, and he's barely got the door closed before Tony is lurching away, engine growling and tires squealing a little.

Steve watches him drive around the corner, then slowly makes his way to the door of the house. Whatever it is he's done to offend Tony, for all he didn’t mean to do it, he stiil feels like an asshole. 

++++++++++

Steve spends the rest of his evening puttering around Bucky's house, feeling sorry for himself. He knows Bucky's off having a romantic night with Clint, and he knows that he somehow managed to hurt Tony's feelings, and he knows he's sitting there by himself on a Saturday night because of that fact.

In an attempt to make himself feel better, or at least a little less lonely, he calls his friend Sam in New York.

“Hey, man, do you know what time it is?” Sam answers, sounding not at all like he’d been sleeping.  Sam’s voice is warm and steady, just like the man himself, and something Steve didn’t realize he’d been missing slowly slots into place.

Steve glances at the clock, does some quick math in his head and realizes it's past any sort of acceptable time to be phoning the east coast. Of course, the fact that Steve can hear party sounds in the background assuages any guilt he might have felt.

“You asking me that because you've gone to bed, or are you asking me that because you found someone not immediately repulsed by you tonight?”

“Oh, that's how it is?” Sam asks, and Steve can hear the grin in his voice, even as he tries to make himself sound offended.

“Oh, that's how it is,” Steve chuckles.  He wonders where Sam is.  Who he’s with, if there’s other people he knows there, some of the old gang.  A sharp pang of longing to be there, where things are comfortable and familiar and safe, hits him then, but he pushes it immediately away.  He’s in L.A., with Bucky, and Bucky’s all he really needs.

“Man, what're you doing calling me so late, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be at the beginning of a new relationship?”

Steve sighs. Of course, he's told Sam about his feelings for Bucky, as well as his plan to stop the wedding. Sam hadn't exactly  _ approved _ , but he was being supportive of Steve's choice. Steve thinks he just needs to get used to the idea, of course.

“I haven't told him yet,” Steve says, easing himself back onto the sofa.

“You've been there, what, three days? I thought you were going to tell him as soon as you landed.”

“I couldn't, he brought his fiancé.” Steve tries to keep his voice neutral, but he's not sure he pulls it off.

When Sam snorts, he's sure he hadn't.

“Shouldn't that tell you something?”

“It'll be fine.”

“Are you really sure you wanna do this? There's no going back from this, you know that, right?”

Steve sighs. “I know, Sam. But I gotta try.”

“So then tell him. Or don't tell him. But the longer you wait, the harder it's gonna be.”

“I just haven't had my moment yet.”

“Why not?”

“There just hasn't been time. Clint was there, and then we had dinner with Clint's friend, and dinner with Buck's family, and – there just hasn't been a good time.”

“Where's Bucky now?”

“He's with Clint.”

“And not with you,” Sam says, not making it a question. “Again, Steve...”

“No, it's not – they had a fight. Yesterday. Tony says they fight a lot.”

“Who's Tony?”

“Clint's friend. We had dinner.”

“Yeah, you said.”  The judgment is heavy in Sam’s voice, but Steve can’t figure out exactly what Sam is judging him for, so he ignores it.  Besides, he knows what he’s doing, and he knows his plan will work out for the best for everyone in the end.

“No, tonight, I mean. Because Bucky was with Clint.”

The ambient noise on the other end of the line dissipates, as though Sam has stepped outside, away from the noise.

“So, wait, you went on a date?”

“Oh, no. Not a – no, Bucky went over to Clint's because they fought, so Tony took me for dinner.”

“So Bucky's single, then?”

“Well, no, they made up.”

“So Bucky's still engaged.”

“Well, yeah, for now.” Steve makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat.

“And you went on a date with this other guy.”

“It wasn't a  _ date, _ ” Steve says, taking a deep breath.

“He straight?”

“Well, no, he's a total flirt –”

“Sounds like a date.”

“It wasn't a date!”

Sam sighs. “Look, Steve. You're my friend. I'm trying to be supportive of your feelings here, but – is Bucky happy?”

Steve swallows, his throat suddenly tight. “He just doesn't know what he's missing, is all.”

“Except, you said you guys have known each other for your whole lives.”

“Yeah, but –”

“And in all that time,” Sam says, not letting Steve's interruption slow him down, “Bucky's never shown any interest in you.”

“Sam,” Steve says, trying to think of something to say to stop Sam's train of thought.

“And you just said he seems happy.”

“I could make him happier.”

“You say that, Steve, but are you sure? Are you really, really sure? Because if you aren't, then you're not doing him any favours – or yourself.”

Steve sighs. This conversation doesn't seem to be the mood-booster he'd been hoping for when he'd picked up the phone.

“Look, man, I gotta go. Just – think about it, okay?”

“Thanks, Sam,” Steve says, not feeling particularly grateful. “I'll talk to you later.”

“Get some sun,” Sam says before he disconnects the call.

Steve stares at his phone for a few minutes.  He misses his home, then, with another sharp pang, one he can’t quite ignore this time:  the buildings, the architecture, the smells, the sights and sounds that are as well known to him as his own hand, and which are nothing like L.A..  The tenement where he’d grown up, the small apartment he’d shared with Bucky.  The cemetery where his mother had been buried, five years ago now, and the other one he visited less often where his father was.  

Sam, and his old crew.  Ms Carter who he’d thought himself in love with when he’d been seven, who lived down the hall and always, always made sure to straighten his tie every Sunday before Mass.  

He puts the phone slowly down, and then trudges off to bed. 

++++++++++

When Steve wakes up in the morning, he's decided it's time to up his game. He'd given Sam's words a lot of thought, and he's decided that maybe just outright telling Bucky about his feelings isn't the way to go. Bucky just needs to be single again – then Steve will feel more comfortable having that conversation.

He goes for a run, gets back to the house and throws together a quick breakfast. As he's cleaning up the dishes, Bucky walks in, tossing his keys down on the counter.

Steve willfully ignores the goofy smile on his face.

“Hey, Stevie. You have a good night?”

Steve narrows his eyes a little, then takes a chance.

“Yeah, actually. Tony came and took me out for dinner.” He's rewarded for the admission with a tightening of Bucky's smile and a few surprised blinks.

“Really? You went out with Tony?”

Steve smiles, pleased at the hesitant tone. “Yeah. It was really nice.” He carefully doesn't mention that he'd told Tony he wasn't interested, or that Tony had cut their dinner short. “He treated me.  We had fun.”  Well, Steve had been enjoying himself, anyway.  And it  _ had _ been nice, surprisingly so.  

Bucky sits down at the table and pulls the fruit bowl closer to himself, taking a bite out of an apple. “Just – be careful, okay? Tony's a bit of a heartbreaker.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I can take care of myself, Buck.”

“Oh, I know. I'm not – I'm just saying. Don't get too invested, is all. He hasn't had a relationship longer than a week as long as I've known him.”

Steve doesn't say anything to that, though in the back of his mind he thinks something snarky about Bucky only having known Tony for the last five months.  

Five months certainly isn’t long enough to get to know anyone, not really – and ‘anyone’ includes Bucky’s fiancé.

“So, what are we doing today?” he asks, changing the subject.

Bucky leans back in his chair and gives Steve a sly smile. “Clint and I have planned a bit of a surprise, actually.”

Steve ignores the mention of Clint and just meets Bucky's eyes.  Bucky looks happy, and excited, and a little wicked.  Steve resists the strong urge to kiss him.

“We're rounding up everyone, and we're going to play paintball.” 

++++++++++

“Left flank!” Steve shouts, trying to keep his voice serious as he motions for his team to move forward. “They're fish in a barrel down there!” He points toward a narrow path just between some rock outcroppings, where he can see a few members of the opposing team trying to sprint for cover.

“Got 'em, Steve,” Clint says, sighting through the barrel of his paint marker. His belly is on the ground, and he's peering over a tall, sheer rock face – Steve's not even sure how he got up that high, but at this particular moment in time, with their team down to just a very few of them, he doesn't care.

Clint's a damned good shot, too, and manages to take out both his friend Thor, and Thor's girlfriend, Jane. Steve gives a wave of triumph over his shoulder as he continues to sprint down the path, the flag stand in sight, holding victory.

He's running so fast, he almost misses it – he breaks through a small copse of trees and sees just a bare glint of sunlight hit a chrome button on her jacket, and he manages to tuck down and somersault into the next treeline, narrowly avoiding her shot. The woman, Clint's friend Natasha, lets out a quiet curse when the paintball whizzes past his ear, and he grins as he points his own marker in her direction. Now that she's lost the element of surprise, he thinks he might have a good shot at taking her down. She's been systematically terrorizing Steve's whole team, and he's a little surprised to see her this close to her own flag.

Of course, if Natasha is here, guarding it...

“Shit,” he curses, under his breath, as he whirls to look for support. Natasha has disappeared into the bush, which he knows is bad for him, and he gets a glimpse of dark hair that could be Jane's friend, Darcy, but he doesn't see any members of his own team.

Except Clint.

Clint is following along at the top of the little rock face, managing to keep out of sight of any errant paintballs, opposing team members and the like.

Steve moves back a little into the trees to make sure no one can sneak up on him, and looks up to catch Clint's eye. He holds a fist to his chest to indicate he's giving Clint an order, then circles his index finger in the air to signal 'rally point' to tell Clint that their flag may require further guarding.

Clint gives him a curt nod, then disappears. Steve knows he's on his own now, but he's got good reflexes and he's quick on his feet, so he quietly makes his way along the edge of the path toward the grey flag, with its red star, waving in the breeze.

Clint had taught Steve, as well as the rest of their team, a few basic military hand signals. At first, he'd been more than a little disappointed to be placed on a team with Clint and not Bucky, but as it turns out, they're making a pretty good team. It helps that Clint is maybe even a better shot than Bucky.

He feels a bit disloyal acknowledging it, but, well, Bucky tried to take him out ten minutes ago, and it’s also kind of true.

They've lost a few players off their team, already – Bucky's friends Wanda and Pietro, Clint's friends Mack and Melinda. Clint's other friend, Bobbi, is still out there somewhere, but the three of them are all that are left, and they are far outnumbered. Darcy hasn't been pegged yet, and Bucky himself is still running around somewhere. As well, there are still Scott and Lance to contend with, along with Natasha.

Steve knows their biggest problems are Bucky and Natasha. Natasha is light on her feet, quiet and ruthless. For all Steve knows, she could be watching him right now from some hidden tree cover. But he's more worried about Bucky, at this point. Bobbi is back guarding their flag, and having sent Clint to back her up means Steve is out here alone.

Bucky had been their high school's biathlon champion. Living in California means he's, of course, no longer an avid skier, but Steve knows he still has impeccable aim. He only hopes Bucky's not somewhere between himself and the flag, though he's not willing to put money on it.

He stays within the tree cover, trying to move as silently as possible. If Bucky is out there and spots him, Steve knows he doesn't have much of a chance. He can see the flag, as the light breeze pushes some branches out of the way, and he heads straight for it. He's moving slowly, and as quietly as he can.

And then he fucks up.

He gingerly takes another step forward, and he can hear the twig cracking drily under his foot before he can do anything to shift his weight back, so he rolls forward into a somersault, launching back up to his feet just as a ball of hot pink paint splatters against a tree trunk – directly beyond where his head just was. He jerks his head back to stare at it, eyes wide, and then he books it.

He runs as hard and as fast as he can through the tree cover, only hoping his year of cardio and weight training will move him faster than Bucky, who had been filling his hopper with hot pink paint balls, can aim at him. He hears the whizzing of the balls by his ear, and hears them spattering into the trees behind him, but he just keeps weaving as he runs and hoping for the best.

A sudden shout of victory comes from back in the direction of his own team's flag, but Steve can't tell who it is. He thinks it might have been a female voice, but that could mean Bobbi, or it could mean Natasha, which would put Clint or Bobbi out and leave him on his own. He doesn't have time to think about it, because he's sure Bucky is still on his trail, so he keeps running.

The flag is in a small clearing, so he doesn't waste any time, and doesn't slow down. He keeps running, and hot pink paint splatters on the ground behind him as he reaches out and grips the flag, tearing it down from its pole as he goes into the trees at the opposite side. He tries to stay low, tries to keep himself hidden within the branches, and gets ready to head back for his own flagpole – and victory.

“I know you're in there, Stevie,” Bucky calls after a few moments, obviously trying to keep his voice level. His laughter, however, is clearly there in the slight vibrato of his tone.

Steve doesn't rise to the bait. The smallest sound could alert Bucky to his location again, and he doesn't think he'll get lucky this time.

He moves through the trees quietly, eyes darting around the high ground to try and figure out from where Bucky is watching him. He sees a glint of something – the sun shining off a pair of safety goggles. Steve crouches low, watching carefully as Bucky tracks his marker in a low arc, clearly unsure of Steve's position.

And then he sees Clint – moving silently and slowly, until he's right up behind Bucky on the ground, cocky smirk on his face.

“Hands up, baby,” Clint says, pointing his marker right at the back of Bucky's head.

Steve almost bursts out laughing at the way Bucky's jaw drops in surprise.

“Fuck,” he sighs, dropping his forehead to the ground, placing his marker down and putting his hands up.

Clint is laughing behind him. “It's okay, Steve,” he calls out, jutting his chin out. “Bobbi got Scott and Lance, and I managed to tag Nat. We win.”

“Shit, baby, you got Nat? How the hell did you manage that?” Bucky says, rolling over onto his back and folding his hands behind his head in a relaxed, cocky pose as Steve moves out of the bushes, grinning from ear to ear. He moves closer to Bucky and Clint, and Clint raises a hand for a victory high-five, which Steve obliges.

“Dumb fucking luck,” Clint laughs, reaching a hand down to help Bucky up. Once Bucky’s standing, Clint reaches a hand out to pat heavily on Steve's shoulder.

“Nice moves out there, Rogers,” he winks, flipping up his goggles.

“Fuck, I thought you had me,” Steve chuckles, shaking his head ruefully. He hands the flag over to Clint, who wraps it around his shoulders and ties it off like a cape.

The three of them walk through the bushes, off the field to the staging area to meet up with the rest of the group. When they get there, Clint wraps Natasha up in a tight, solid bear hug, still grinning.

“You did all right,” she says, giving Steve a nod.

“I thought you had me until you disappeared.”

“I was looking for Clint. Still not sure how you managed to avoid me,” she says, pulling out of Clint's arms and glaring at him.

He shrugs. “I'll never tell.”

She rolls her eyes.

Clint holds out a fist, and Steve bumps it. He glances over at Bucky, who has a wide, sappy grin on his face.

Clint winks at Steve, and Steve has a hard time containing the grin that’s trying to take over his face.  He tries to remind himself that he hates Clint, because Clint is the guy that’s going to screw up Bucky’s life – screw up  _ Steve _ and Bucky’s future – but right now, he’s having a hard time remembering that this guy, this guy with the wide smirk and ridiculous hair that’s making Bucky laugh like he hasn’t heard in forever –

Steve hates Clint, but right now he’s having a hard time hanging on to the reasons why.  

++++++++++

Steve and Bucky head back to Bucky's to get showered and cleaned up, though the problem is more dirt and sweat than paint for them. Once they're changed, they head back over to Clint's for an early dinner.

They go directly into the little back yard, a lush green space with little stone paths and a gazebo. Clint is in the process of firing up a little charcoal grill when they get there.

Steve looks around the yard, and sees that Clint's not the only one there. Sitting in cushy deck chairs on the patio are Natasha, Tony, and a man Steve hasn't yet met.

“Banner!” Bucky calls, waving. He grins. “I didn't know you were back in town.”

The man stands up and comes over to shake Bucky's hand, smiling warmly at him. “I just got in last night.”

Bucky turns to Steve. “Stevie, this is Bruce. He's Nat's boyfriend. And Tony's – what is he calling you these days? Heterosexual life mate?”

Bruce rolls his eyes with a rueful grin, and Tony pipes up from the deck, raising a bottle of water up into the air in greeting. “Soulmate. Our bromance is one for the ages.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bruce says, offering Steve a hand in greeting. “James has told us a lot about you.”

“Good to meet you, too,” Steve says, grinning. “So you've been traveling?”

He moves toward the deck, giving Tony a small smile as he moves forward with the others to find a place to sit. He tries not to be disappointed in the lack of warmth when Tony gives him a simple nod in greeting.

“I was at a nuclear physics conference in Tokyo,” Bruce says, moving back to his seat beside Natasha, who takes a sip from her own bottle of water.

“Pfft,” Tony scoffs, rolling his eyes. He turns to Steve, waving a hand in Bruce's direction. “He wasn't so much  _ at _ the conference as he was the  _ keynote speaker _ at the conference.” He says it like he's bragging, like he's proud.

Bruce blushes a little, so Steve smiles at him. “Impressive.”

“It was a last-minute thing,” Bruce says modestly.

“So, Steve, Tony was just catching us up,” Natasha says. “He says you're moving to L.A.?”

Steve doesn't miss the slightly grateful smile Bruce gives her. He also doesn't miss the fact that Natasha's words mean Tony had been talking about him, and he tries to ignore the little thrill that gives him in his belly.

“Yeah, actually. Tony suggested a couple of places I should apply.”

“Have you done that yet, by the way?” Tony asks him, and Steve smiles at him.

“I sent my resume off the day you and I went for dinner,” he says. He takes a quick glance at Bucky when he says it, and doesn't miss the way Bucky's jaw tightens. Interesting.

So Steve doubles down. “Thanks for that, by the way,” he says, making sure to catch – and keep – Tony's eye. “Dinner, I mean. I don't know if I mentioned how much I really appreciated it.”

“You didn't, no,” Tony says, narrowing his eyes at Steve.

Steve shrugs and leans back, and tries to convey with his body language that he might, possibly, be flirting with Tony. “You're good company. I had a nice time.”

Steve ignores the way Natasha and Bruce blink at one another, and the way Clint's eyebrow shoots up. He steadfastly does not look in Bucky's direction at all, but he can almost feel the waves of scrutiny.

“Right,” Tony says, still sounding a little unsure. “That's... good?”

Steve gives him a slow smile, but doesn't say anything more on the subject.

The barbecue is nice. Clint cooks burgers and hot dogs, and a veggie patty for Bruce, and Natasha had brought a kale salad to share. Steve feels a little bad that he and Bucky didn't bring anything, but he assumes Bucky would have if it were something expected.

Steve dials up the flirting with Tony. He watches as Bucky's posture gets more and more tense with every exchange between Steve and Tony, and he makes sure to grin and laugh and generally give off vibes that maybe he and Tony have something going on.

He knows it's not really fair to Tony, but both Bucky and Clint had mentioned he was a bit of a flirt himself, and pretty free with his affections, and so Steve decides that Tony probably isn't so delicate that a little harmless flirting will damage him in any way.

The most important thing, Steve decides, is watching Bucky get more and more flustered. Steve is convinced there's a pretty good chance that Bucky's problem is jealousy, meaning that at any time, Bucky may realize he has feelings for Steve. Then all Steve has to do is sit back and wait for Bucky to call off the wedding, and things will go back to normal.

Back to plan.  

So, in the meantime, he flirts. 

++++++++++

On Monday, Steve gets a call from Fury & Hill Marketing. They've received his resume, as well as a call from Tony, and say they want to see him the following day.  Steve is incredibly grateful that Tony, who doesn’t even know his work, went out of his way to call on his behalf. 

He’s also warmed to the core that Tony has taken him at his word, and trusts that he has enough talent to warrant his faith.  Steve doesn’t want to blow the interview, but more importantly, he really doesn’t want to disappoint Tony or his faith in him.

He schedules  the interview appointment and once that’s done, he and Bucky spend the rest of the day with Bucky showing him around the city. Bucky has photo shoots all day Tuesday so Steve takes a cab to his interview.

He'd expected Fury & Hill to be downtown, but it's out in Santa Monica, and Steve can hear the beach as he walks into the air-conditioned offices. He's nervous, but not terribly so.

The first thing Nick Fury asks him is if Steve can do any 3D modelling. Before he can answer, Nick points up at his eyepatch. “Because I'm strictly 2D, you understand.”

Steve blinks at him for a few moments, before Nick cracks a half-smile.

“That's a joke.”

“I –” Steve starts. He's not sure how to follow it up.

“Look, kid. Tony called me last week and said I ought to hire you. He said you were smart and good at your job. Your portfolio backs it up, so here's what we're going to do. I'll give you a probationary position for the next three months. Mostly you'll be working on layout, but it's summer right now so things aren't real busy. Come September, and assuming things work out and you’re still here, we'll ask more from you, but for now I only need you four days a week. You'll have Friday, Saturday and Sunday off. That work okay for you?

“Thank you, Mr. Fury. That will be just fine.”

“Then you start Monday. Be here by nine – I don't tolerate tardiness.”

Steve leaves the offices feeling somewhat shell-shocked. While he waits for his cab home, he texts Bucky.

_ I got the job. I start Monday. _

_ That’s great, punk!   _ types back Bucky.   _ I knew how badly you wanted it.  Celebratory dinner later tonight? _

Steve sends back a thumbs up emoticon, before hesitating a second, and then texting Tony.  He still can’t believe what just happened, and he knows it’s entirely because of Tony.   _ Hey, Tony, I just wanted to thank you for putting in a good word with me on that job. I start Monday. :-) _

_ Congrats, _ Tony texts back right away.  _ That’s great news!   _ Tony adds a selfie of himself, grinning and fist pumping the air.

Steve feels a small, ridiculous smile work its way across his face.  He can’t stop it, and doesn’t try. 

++++++++++

On a Tuesday morning, as he's riding the bus to work, he gets a text from Tony.

_ You working today? _

_ Yes. It’s Tuesday, I work Monday to Thursday. _

_ Ha. That sounded bitchy, you should buy me dinner to apologize. But I'd settle for lunch. And I’ll buy. _

Steve's trying to decide how to reply – does he say yes? But what about Bucky? Should he remind Tony that he's not interested (despite what his body or his subconscious might have to say about it)? Is that presumptuous?

_ It's time to talk BACHELOR PARTY, _ Tony texts him, while he's trying to decide.  _ I can come to you.  _ The words are followed by half a dozen party hat emojis and an eggplant emoji.

Steve chuckles to himself.

_ Did you seriously just send me a bunch of emojis? I didn't think you were an emoji type of guy _ .

_ I'm not. But you're under 30, I thought that was the only way you knew how to communicate? _

Steve laughs, and sends Tony an emoji of an old man with a beard, leaning heavily on a cane.

Then he taps out a message.  _ I take my lunch at 12:30. If you happened to be in Santa Monica around then, we can talk bachelor party. _

He tucks his phone into his pocket and slides out of his seat on the bus. He climbs out when it stops, and starts the five-block walk from the stop to the Fury & Hill office.

Bucky had offered Steve his car, but Steve doesn't feel right about taking it. Bucky's at home editing photos today, but Steve doesn't mind taking the bus.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out as he walks. It's a text from Tony.

_ See you at 12:30. _

He tries not to grin, but he fails miserably. 

++++++++++

Steve works through the files on his desk, building logos and business cards and magazine ads. He takes a break around 11, using his phone to Google “how to break up a couple” so there's no browser history on his work computer.

He finds a page, and the first paragraph is the author reminding readers to be sure, absolutely sure, that they're doing the right thing.

He swallows, gut churning. Of course he's doing the right thing. Bucky belongs with him. There's no one else Steve can imagine himself loving. Only Bucky knows everything about him and has stuck by him his whole life. Bucky knew him when he was sick, when he was small and weak and poor. Bucky held him when he cried after his mom passed. Bucky wouldn’t hurt him, or leave him, or break his heart the way his dad had when he left his mom.

Left _ them,  _ but he tries not to think about that.

He keeps reading the article.

_ Point out relationship flaws. Become his confidant. _

_ Make the other person jealous by going on harmless dates with someone else. _

Steve lets himself grin a little.

_ Having lunch with Tony! _ He texts Bucky, before putting his phone away and getting back to work. He knows he's going to have to up his game soon. He has to actively make Bucky realize he doesn't want to marry Clint and wants Steve instead, rather than just hoping Bucky will figure it out for himself.

But for now, for today, he'll just make sure Bucky knows he's spending time with Tony.

_ Ok. See you later.  :-) _

Steve tries not to feel let down by the bland response, putting his phone away again. He decides that probably Bucky just didn't want to sound jealous. He's probably unhappy, but didn't want to make it known to Steve via text.

That's probably it. 

++++++++++

Tony is standing outside the building with a greasy-looking brown paper bag when Steve walks out to the sidewalk. He grins at Steve and holds the bag up enticingly.

“I stood in line for an hour, but it's going to be worth it when you start eating this sandwich,” Tony says with a grin.

Steve raises an eyebrow, falling into step beside Tony. They make small talk about Steve's work day while they walk along the path until they find an empty bench, and Tony reaches into the bag and pulls out a black and white checkered paper package. He hands it to Steve, grinning.

“So what's the big deal about the hour-long-line-up sandwich? Doesn't look that impressive,” Steve says with a shrug, unwrapping the paper.

Tony chuckles like he knows a secret. “I got these from Holy Aioli,” he says. “You're holding a Duke of Milan. There's a Holy Aioli in this bag with your name on it, too. And if you're really, really nice to me, I  _ might _ split my Chicken Brie Melt with you.”

Steve gives him a side-eyed look, then shrugs and takes a small bite from the corner of his sandwich.

And then he lets out an embarrassingly loud, out of control  _ moan _ .

“Oh, yeah. That's what I wanted to hear,” Tony chuckles, voice low. “That sandwich sounds like  _ sex _ .”

“Oh my God,” Steve moans around his mouthful, too busy enjoying what feels like a religious experience to counter Tony's flirting. “This sandwich is  _ better _ than sex.”

Tony quirks an eyebrow. “It's a good sandwich, Sunshine, but nothing tops a good round in the bedroom. Unless you're not being taken care of properly? That'd be a damned shame.”

Steve colours a little, swallowing thickly, sighing happily as he takes another bite. “I love this sandwich more than I will ever love anything in this life,” he says, trying to keep the conversation in safer territory. The last thing he wants to do is have a conversation about sex with Tony.

Tony grins, and takes a bite of his own sandwich with a happy noise.

They eat quietly for a few moments, then Steve leans back and pops the last of his sandwich into his mouth, licking sauce off his thumb.

Tony eyes him with interest, one corner of his mouth turning up in amusement, while he stares at Steve's mouth.

Steve clears his throat, trying to ignore the blush he feels on his cheeks.

“So. Bachelor party.”

Tony hands him another sandwich out of the bag, and Steve unwraps it quickly, taking a bite and letting another small moan creak its way out of his throat.

Tony swallows hard, watching him for a moment.

“So, I figure we have two options,” he finally says, wiping his fingers with a napkin. “We can either do a weekend in Mykonos, or a weekend in – eugh – Cancun.”

Steve blinks at him, sandwich halfway to his open mouth. He doesn't move for a moment.

“Excuse me?”

“Mykonos or Cancun.”

“You want to – Tony, I can't afford to go to Mexico for a weekend, nevermind Greece. I just moved here, I have no – Tony, there's no way –” Steve can barely string together a coherent sentence.

Tony rolls his eyes, holding up a placating hand. “Relax, Sunshine. Obviously we'd be taking my private jet. I've got a villa in Mykonos, with lots of room for everyone, or I can get one in Cancun. Just think: gorgeous sun, beautiful beach...”

Steve looks pointedly at the stretch of beach directly to their left.

“That's a shitty beach, Brooklyn. Come on, don't you want a debauched weekend in an exotic locale?”

“Tony, we can't plan a weekend in Mykonos for the bachelor party. Come on.”

Tony huffs out an annoyed sigh. “Well then what would you suggest, spoilsport?”

“I don't know. Karaoke? Camping?”

Tony waves a dismissive hand. “Boring. Come on, Clint and James are only going to get married once. Let me treat them.”

“You're treating them to a  _ wedding _ ,” Steve says, ignoring the insidious little voice in the back of his head that reminds him that if he has his way, Tony won't be treating them to that, either.

Tony rolls his eyes again. “Come on. Ibiza?”

“Tony, no.” Steve takes another bite of his sandwich, shaking his head while Tony huffs out a breath. “Let's be realistic. Besides, we've got, what, three weeks to plan it? That's not enough time for international travel.”

Tony sighs overdramatically. “You never let me have any fun.”

Steve snorts out a laugh. “You seem like you manage to find plenty of fun.”

“I could show you all kinds of fun,” Tony says, giving him an exaggerated leer and handing over half of the last sandwich.

And if Steve's skin tingles a little where his fingers brush against Tony's, he chooses not to think about it. And if Tony's eyes darken when Tony watches him lick his finger clean again, Steve tries not to wonder if he'd have the same expression if, instead of sucking his own fingers, he was sucking something else entirely.

“Right, back to business,” Tony says, after a moment, pulling his phone out of his pocket. It drags Steve out of his little fantasy, and he raises a questioning eyebrow.

Tony hits the touch screen a few times, then holds the phone out as it starts ringing out the speaker.

“Hey, Tony,” Clint answers the phone. “What’s up?”

“Steven and I are in the midst of planning your epic bachelor party,” Tony starts, ignoring Steve’s eye-rolling. “I’m thinking the Four Seasons in Vegas.”

“Tony, no,” Clint says through the phone, sounding touched and grateful and a bit shocked, even as Steve tries to roll his eyes even harder. “You’re already paying for the wedding –” 

“Quiet, now,” Tony bulldozes right over him. “I’m your best man, the bachelor party is my job. So, I was thinking Vegas.”

“I don’t know, Tony,” Clint says, voice unsure.

“Come on, Clint. It’s got everything! Hotel rooms to trash, tons of booze, strippers…”

“Seriously, Tony, no,” Clint says again, a bit more determined this time, and Steve tries to convince himself he’s not pleasantly surprised. “I’m not – you’ve been trying so hard, what’s that going to do to you? Being around all that?”

Steve looks down at the path in front of their bench, trying to give Tony some semblance of privacy in the conversation.

Tony huffs. “Clint, it’s your wedding. I promise I won’t slip. I’ll be  _ fine _ . I don’t mind –”

“ _ I _ mind,” Clint interrupts. “Besides, Tony, you  _ know _ how I grew up. I don’t – I don’t really – honestly, getting smashed while everyone around me gets smashed at the same time? Not really my idea of a great party.”

“Are you sure? Because you really don’t have to worry about –”

“I’m sure,” Clint says. “And I  _ know _ I don’t have to worry. You’re strong, and you’ve come so far. But you’re also one of my best friends, Tony. I don’t – I wouldn’t be happy unless I knew you were enjoying yourself, too. Plan something else. Just – no Vegas, no drinking, no strippers. Besides, I was thinking it’d be nice if Pepper came, and I’d like Tasha there, too.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Fine, birdbrain. But just so you know, I feel like my wings are being clipped here.”

“You’ll be fine,” Clint says with a low chuckle, and Tony disconnects the call.

Tony glances up at Steve, who meets his eye with a grin. “So, no Vegas, either, huh? Whatever are we going to do?”

“See, that  _ sounded _ a lot like floating a plan to go to Vegas, but mostly, it was recon.”

“Recon?”

“Oh, yeah. Just to get an idea of what he’s thinking. Now, I have the best idea in the world. No one can take this away from me.”

Steve crosses his arms in front of his chest and quirks an eyebrow.

“Carnival arcade party with half-naked models-slash-wait staff,” Tony says, his tone suggesting the answer should have been obvious.

“Of course,” Steve says drily. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Not sure. You should have. James is the one who’s obsessed with old arcade games.”

Steve feels his face burn a little. He’d actually forgotten that.

“They’re going to love it,” Tony says, grinning at him obliviously.  “Hey, if you’re not going to eat that,” he waves in the general direction of the half sandwich Steve’s still holding, “can I have it?” 

++++++++++

Tony texts him, out of the blue, on a Friday afternoon. _ I'm playing hooky right now, wanna come swim in the pool? _

Steve's heart pounds in his chest. He knows he shouldn't – as tempting as Tony is, he's not Bucky. He has to stick to the plan.

After a few moments of hesitation, his phone vibrates again.

_ Relax, sunshine. Bruce and Nat are here too. _

Steve relaxes, and taps out a response as he slides into the cab that's pulled up to the curb.

_ On my way _ , he sends, and then gives the driver Tony's address.

The cab driver is visibly impressed when he pulls up to Tony's mansion, but doesn't say anything about it. Steve thanks him for the ride, and hands him a large tip for the 45-minute trip.

Jarvis directs him out to the pool, and Tony waves him toward the pool house, where he can borrow a pair of shorts. Steve gives Bruce and Natasha a wave, where they are playfully splashing at each other in the water. Tony is sitting on a lounge chair, sans shirt, and Steve can't help but stare appreciatively at his tanning-oil covered torso. He swallows roughly and then goes to change.

When he comes back, he sits on the lounger beside Tony's.

“So, hooky, huh?” he asks, leaning back. Tony looks over the top of his sunglasses with a grin, and Steve feels himself blush.

“You, Sunshine, look like maybe your creamy white skin isn’t going to handle the sun so well. You gonna burn out here?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably.”

Tony tosses him a bottle of waterproof sunscreen, and Steve smiles in thanks before popping the cap and starting to work some of the lotion over his skin.

“If you like, I could get your back,” Tony says from beside him, his throat a little raspy.

Steve's breath hitches, and he fumbles the bottle, almost dropping it onto the concrete pool deck.

“I'm not – you don't have to –”

“Oh, I don't mind, Sunshine. You wouldn't want to burn.”

Steve takes a deep breath and ignores the slight tremble in his hand as he holds the lotion out to Tony. Tony stands up from his chair and plucks the bottle from Steve's hand, moving to sit behind Steve on the lounger, legs straddling the seat.

Steve swallows and turns toward the pool, anticipation making his mouth run dry.

As soon as Tony's hand touches the bare flesh of his back, Steve nearly jumps out of his skin. It feels like an electric shock, and his skin tingles everywhere Tony touches. His palms are calloused and rough, but confident and sure, rubbing the lotion into Steve's skin efficiently but in a way that hints at a sensual touch. Steve's breathing tempo has changed entirely by the time Tony starts working at spreading the sunscreen on Steve's lower back, just brushing against the top of his borrowed board shorts.

_ He wants to turn and kiss him. _

Steve's not sure where that thought came from, but it’s loud and insistent.

Before he can figure it out, and decide whether it's true, a tall, willowy redhead in a blouse, pencil skirt and stilettos is suddenly standing beside the lounge chair, a tablet – StarkPad, obviously, Steve thinks – in her hand. She's looking down at them, grinning at Tony.

“So, Tony, is this the guy you –”

“Ms. Potts!” Tony interrupts her, standing up in one fluid motion. Steve tries not to feel a sense of loss. “What are you doing here?”

The woman – Ms. Potts – blinks at Tony for a moment before glancing down at Steve, then back to Tony.

“I brought you a few documents to check over,” she says slowly, narrowing her eyes at Tony. “I hope I didn't interrupt your afternoon off.”

Steve thinks her voice sounds suspicious, and he wonders what she'd been about to say before Tony cut her off.

“Great. Let's go – over here, somewhere,” Tony says, waving toward the edge of the pool deck, away from Steve. They walk across the deck, and Steve watches their conversation get somewhat heated, with Ms. Potts glancing in his direction from time to time, and Tony gesturing wildly with his hands.

He can't help but feel like they're talking about him.

However, Ms. Potts' interruption couldn't have been more well-timed. Steve takes a few deep breaths, then scoots back in the chair to lean back, watching Natasha and Bruce in the pool. Their roughhousing seems to have petered out, and they're not doing much more than floating in the deep end now, glancing his way once in awhile.

Steve suddenly feels incredibly self-conscious.

After a few minutes, Tony comes back toward Steve. He looks down at him for a moment, studying him, before sitting down in his own chair and leaning back.

“That's my assistant, Pepper Potts,” he says, waving back in the direction she had left. “Don't mind her.”

“Okay,” Steve says, unsure.

“I mean, she's very good at her job. She has to be. But sometimes she says things that don't – don't make sense.”

“Okay,” Steve repeats, wondering why Tony seems nervous – and what Ms. Potts had been about to say.

Steve leans back in his chair, and he and Tony silently watch Natasha and Bruce play a game that seems to be a cross between water polo and basketball.

“Are you killjoys going to just sit there on the side, or are you going to come in here and play a game like men?” Natasha asks, finally, holding the ball in both hands in front of her. She's grinning, and Steve is reminded of a barracuda.

“I call being on your team,” Tony says to her, jumping up from his chair and heading toward the side of the pool.

“Tony, are you sure you should –” Bruce starts.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. I'm  _ fine _ .” Tony turns to Steve, and Steve thinks his eyes might be overly bright. “Don't mind Bruce, he abstains from fun.”

“I'm just –” Bruce tries again.

“And I'm just  _ fine _ .” Tony says it with more finality this time, jaw clenching, and Bruce stares at him for a few moments, studying him.

Steve wonders about the exchange, but then Tony is taking the ball out of Natasha's hands and throwing it to Steve with a two-handed chest pass. He catches it, and grins as he jumps in the water.

Steve passes the ball to Bruce, who places it on the surface so it floats.

“Ball's in the middle. Whoever gets to it first from the side gets first charge,” Bruce says, moving back toward the west wall of the pool. Steve follows him while Tony and Natasha move to the east side.

“Count of three,” Tony grins, and Steve lets himself have a predatory smile.

“Three, two, one,” Natasha counts off, and then Steve bursts from the wall, his long body moving in a powerful dolphin kick under the water, streamlined and swift and well-practiced.

Swimming was the one sport he'd excelled at before his growth spurt, and he'd only gotten better with his extra height, his long arms and fingers and feet and his strong, powerful muscles.

He's at the ball first so he has time to admire Tony's graceful, if somewhat unpolished, freestyle strokes toward the ball before everyone realizes Steve's already won the charge.

Natasha stands up and quirks an eyebrow at him, and Bruce crows triumphantly behind him.

“So you're good in the water,” Tony grins slyly. “What you don't know is that Natasha fights dirty.”

Steve laughs and starts swimming – one-handed – with the ball toward the basketball net on the east wall. He holds the ball out of Natasha's reach, and as he's moving by her, arm outstretched, he feels a hand cup his ass cheek, squeezing the muscle hard and fast. He yelps in surprise, and turns to meet Tony's eyes as he breaks the surface, grinning, just as Natasha grabs the ball out of Steve's hands easily and tosses it toward the west wall's net. The ball slips in perfectly, and Steve's jaw drops as he glares at Tony.

“And I fight dirtier,” he laughs.

Steve narrows his eyes, swallowing and trying to ignore the flicker of desire at Tony's touch, at the glint in his eyes.

That sets the tone for the game. When Tony's on a rush toward Steve and Bruce's goal, Steve dives under the water and brushes against Tony's hip, and it stops Tony short. Natasha's bikini strap 'slips' when Bruce is heading for the net. Bruce runs a hand up the inside of Natasha's thigh when she's moving to score. Tony, with a grin, blocks Steve from the net by pressing his entire body, hips to chest, against Steve, and all Steve's air leaves his lungs in a rush at the contact.

They're breathing hard, all four of them, by the time Tony calls an end to the game, citing a need for a drink of water.

Tony pulls himself out of the pool, and as he's walking toward the pool bar (stocked with non-alcoholic drinks, of course), he wobbles a little, hands shooting out to his sides for balance.

“Tony?” Bruce asks, heading for the side in a hurry.

“I'm fine, Bruce,” Tony says, standing there for a moment, taking deep breaths. He visibly shakes off whatever he's feeling and continues to the bar. “Just a little light headed. Nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” Bruce asks, his voice sounding concerned. Steve's gaze flicks between the two of them, trying to figure out what no one's telling him.

Natasha catches his eye and shakes her head gently.  _ Don't ask _ , the gesture says.

Steve looks back up at Tony, who seems fine as he takes the cap off a bottle of water and takes a long swig. Steve finds himself distracted by the way Tony's adam's apple bobs while he swallows, the water running off his skin in rivulets.

He has a sudden image of himself, licking those trails of water from Tony's skin, dropping to his knees, reaching up for Tony's waistband –

Steve cuts the thought off, blinking at himself in surprise.

_ What about Bucky? _ asks a small voice in his head.

Steve swallows and shakes himself a little. What he's doing with Tony is harmless flirting. He wants Bucky, but he’s not dead, he can still  _ look _ , and there’s nothing wrong with having a few harmless fantasies about another guy’s body.  

About being under Tony's body, and the accompanying image flashing into his brain at that thought takes his breath away.

Steve blinks again.

_ Shit. _

++++++++++

The thing that really throws Steve for a loop, as the days drag on, are the  _ kinds _ of fantasies he's having. Which are very specific, very graphic, and not at all what he’s supposed to be thinking about.  When he's lying in bed at night, with Bucky in the next room, he takes hold of himself with plans of imagining spreading Bucky out underneath him, of thinking about pushing into Bucky's body.

He’s always considered himself a ‘top’, and his few admittedly disappointing sexual encounters have always reiterated that, so when he takes himself in hand, lube-slicked palm stroking quickly and efficiently over his erection, he thinks about how Bucky's body would open up for him, and squeezes his dick while thinking about how tight it he'd be.

Except he’s never quite able to get there.  Bucky’s face is always laughing at some stupid thing, or throwing fries at him, or something equally  _ dumb _ , or Clint intrudes and the two are off necking in plain view and Steve can’t quite manage to get hard, and then suddenly the voice in his ear morphs into Tony’s and suddenly it’s not Steve’s hand on his dick, it’s Tony’s, voice gravelly and low in his ear, chuckling suggestively while he talks about the wicked things he’s planning to do to Steve’s body. Somewhere before he can actually imagine Bucky stripping for him in a good and sexy way and not a ‘we’ve done this a thousand times before after doing something that made us muddy’ buddy sort of way, it’s Tony above him, and around him, and over him, and in him –

No, wait, it’s Bucky –

It’s Tony bouncing up and down on his lap, Tony who’s tight and slick and warm and perfect –

And then, suddenly, it’s Tony's mouth on him, Tony's fingers pushing in – Steve's left hand reaches back behind his balls, a spit-slick finger just brushing over his pucker – _and breaching him, stretching and burning, then Tony's pushing his cock in, Tony’s actually in him and it’s better and hotter and more perfect than anything else he’s ever done and Steve gasps –_ he does actually gasp, as his hand strokes faster and he comes, stars behind his eyes as he catches his body's release with yesterday's sock, shivering with it.

He lays there for a few minutes, gasping for air as his blood slows, blinking up at the dark ceiling in surprise.

He's never really considered not being on top. He'd never thought – never  _ wanted  _ to think – about being stretched and filled and fucked.

And his fantasies have always been about Bucky.

So what the hell was  _ that _ ? 

++++++++++

“What are we doing tonight?” Steve calls out toward the hallway the Wednesday before the bachelor party, putting away the last of their dinner dishes.

Bucky comes back into the kitchen, slinging a black book bag over his shoulder.

“Oh, shit, sorry, Stevie. I have class tonight.”

Steve blinks at him. “Class? What kind of class?”

“I'm taking a creative writing class twice a month. Didn't I tell you that?”

“No, actually. Why would you be taking a writing class?” Steve asks. Photographers don't need to know anything about writing.

Bucky shrugs. “I think I wanna be a writer,” he answers, shuffling his feet.

“But you're a photographer,” Steve says, confused.

Bucky crosses his arms. “I'm getting out of it, though,” he finally says.

“What do you mean? You love photography. I know you do, that's all you've ever talked about since you got your first Pentax.”

“Well, sure. But that's not – I have to travel all the time, and the hours are stupid. This way I can spend more time with Clint, and I don't have to go out of town all the time. And I always wanted to write.”

Steve just stares at him for a minute. “But you love photography,” he says again.

“It's better this way,” Bucky grins. Steve’s not sure the smile reaches his eyes. “Listen, Steve, I gotta go. I'll only be a couple hours.”

Bucky leaves, and Steve stares at the door after him. Why would Bucky quit photography? All he'd ever talked about when they were kids was how he was going to take pictures of famous people, and have his work all over the world in magazines. And then just last year, he'd gotten the opportunity to do a couple of shoots for People, and now he was constantly jetting off to exotic locations to take photos. Honestly, Steve had often wished that Bucky would get assigned a shoot in New York, so they could have seen each other.

Why would Bucky quit a job he'd loved so much, a job he'd worked so hard to get? Because of the travel? Bucky  _ loved _ the travel. He'd always told Steve that was the best part of his job.

He knows it has to be Clint's influence, and he feels a spark of anger flare low in his chest. How can Bucky let Clint dictate his career choice like that? How can Bucky not see the way Clint is controlling him?

And writing? Since when does Bucky want to be a writer? Isn't that the kind of thing you'd tell your best friend?  Your  _ soulmate _ ? __ He decides Bucky must be saying it now only to cover up the truth, that Clint is pushing him into it.

Steve sits back down at the kitchen table.  _ He _ would never make Bucky give up photography. It's just one more reason to convince Bucky he can do better than Clint. 

++++++++++

_ OK, the limo is on the way _ . Steve glances up from his phone and watches Bucky, who's been impatiently fluttering around the house all afternoon. He'd bounced back and forth between cleaning, packing, double checking wedding details, and channel surfing.

Steve leans back on the couch, slipping his phone back in his pocket. Tony's text had come just in time – he's pretty sure Bucky had been about to explode.

For Steve, though, the day had brought a sinking feeling of dread. Cold and coiled in the bottom of his stomach, the feeling had kept him subdued while Bucky had been manic. Steve has been torn about the party. As Bucky's best friend, Steve of course wants him to have the best bachelor party possible – he wants him to have a good time, to enjoy the amazing party that, frankly, Tony had done all the planning for.

But as the man who's been secretly in love with Bucky for years, Steve is miserable that the party is to celebrate Bucky's impending marriage to  _ Clint _ , instead of himself. That part of him would rather not attend the party at all, would rather keep Bucky home, rather keep Bucky all to himself.

Steve's phone buzzes again in his pocket, and he pulls it out.

_ What are you wearing? _

That's Steve's other problem. He knows Tony's a flirt – he'd been told as much by Clint, by Bucky... and really, it's just obvious. Tony flirts. It doesn't mean anything, but it's been really confusing for Steve. He's gotten used to being flirted with in the last year, since he started working out, since his growth spurt. But with Tony, it's somehow different. Tony seems much more committed to it than Steve is used to. He knows Tony's not  _ serious _ , that for Tony he's just a conquest, but he can't help the little flutter that happens in his chest whenever he gets one of these texts from Tony.

Part of him feels guilty for it. He's encouraged Tony, given off mixed signals, flirted back quite outrageously on a few occasions, and while he’d told himself he’d done it to make Bucky jealous, , he’d also done it a little because it had made him feel good, and he'd found himself flirting when Bucky wasn't around to see. At first he’d felt sort of guilty, flirting with another man and also because he was kind of using Tony, but then he’d realized it was just harmless fun – everyone knew and had repeatedly told him that Tony was an incorrigible flirt. Tony is oddly resolute about it, but Steve's decided it's just because Steve has, thus far, presented a challenge and not succumbed to his wiles.

_ Wouldn't you like to know? _ he texts back, unable to help himself from sending a guilty glance Bucky's way. He shouldn't feel guilty, he knows. It's all in good fun.

A knock at the door has Bucky jumping to his feet, headed straight for the door. Steve laughs at him and stands up as well, slipping his phone into his pocked before Tony texts him back.

“Hold up, Buck,” he laughs, following at a slower pace.

“No fuckin' way! I wanna go to my party,” Bucky crows, opening the door to find Tony's chauffeur, Happy, at the door.

Happy leads them to the limo, opening the door so Bucky can rush in and slide across the seat. Steve follows at a more sedate pace, locking the front door of the house and giving Happy a nod in greeting.

“Mr. Stark is picking up Mr. Barton himself, boys. He asked me to tell you to 'enjoy the ride' and meet them at the location with bells on,” Happy says, voice gruff but cheerful.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asks, eyes bright and excited, when Happy slips into the driver's seat.

“Come on, Buck, you know it's a secret.”

“Come on, Happy,” Bucky wheedles, ignoring Steve's admonishment. “Help a guy out.”

“Nice try, kid,” Happy says, winking into the rear view mirror. “You boys just sit tight, we'll be there in a jiffy.”

Bucky flops back into his seat with a heavy sigh, and Steve just laughs at him. He pulls his buzzing phone out of the pocket of his jeans, glancing at the screen. Another text from Tony.

_ If you won't tell me, I'll just have to picture you naked. _

Steve snorts, but his cheeks colour with a blush anyway.

_ God, fine. Jeans and a dress shirt. _

Tony texts back right away.

_ Too late, I'm already picturing you naked. _

Steve blushes again, and tucks his phone away. He looks up to see Bucky studying him openly. Steve glances down at his lap, trying not to look guilty.

“Who are you texting?” Bucky asks after a moment. He's trying to sound nonchalant, but Steve can tell when Bucky's faking.

“No one,” Steve says, and instantly regrets it when one of Bucky's eyebrows quirks up. “Tony,” he admits, trying to sound just as nonchalant.

“Yeah?” Bucky sounds intrigued, and he's tilted his head in the way that means he has more to say, but Steve really doesn't want to hear it right now. He decides now is the time to ask Bucky about the creative writing classes, and how Clint is making him give up photography. He doesn't care if it  _ is _ deflecting.

“Look, Bucky, can we talk? About you quitting photography?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “What's there to talk about?”

“Well, how about you  _ love _ photography?” Steve asks, unable to keep his voice from pitching just a little louder. He clenches his hand and tries to calm down a little. “How about the part where all of a sudden you're changing the career you've been talking about your whole life, for something you've never, ever even mentioned?”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder, glancing away. “I just don't want to –”

“I know it was Clint's idea, Buck, and – I mean, just, why are you letting him dictate what you do with your life?”

“He's not  _ dictating _ anything, Steve. He loves me, and he wants me around all the time, and I can't do that if I'm traipsing all over the globe to take photos.”

“But you  _ love _ doing that. You've never talked about writing before.”

“Because I thought you'd laugh at me!” Bucky snaps, his voice a frustrated growl.

Steve blinks at him, gobsmacked. “What?”

Bucky blows out a hard breath. “Nevermind.”

“You thought – you thought I'd make fun of you?” Steve can't keep the hurt and confusion out of his voice. “Really?”

Bucky meets his eyes, and Steve can see the guilt there. And the embarrassment.

“You really think that?” Steve asks.

“No. Yes.” Bucky sighs again. “I don't know.”

Steve just stares at him. Bucky really thought that? That Steve would make fun of him for something like that? That Steve would make fun of him for  _ anything _ ?

“Buck –” he starts.

“No, Steve. I know it’s not fair. I just… I was embarrassed. I thought – well, what if I’m no good? Right? But Clint’s been really encouraging, so I just decided to go for it.”

Steve feels cold in the bottom of his belly. Here he’d been thinking the worst of Clint on this, while Clint had actually just been there for Bucky, in a way that Steve hadn’t. Bucky had felt comfortable telling Clint about wanting to write, where he hadn’t felt comfortable with Steve.

He gives Bucky a smile, hoping it looks real. “Well, that’s good,” he says. He thinks it even sounds sincere.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. That I didn’t tell you. That I thought you’d –”

“No, Buck, it’s okay. It’s fine.  I just want you to be happy, you know?”

“Stevie –” Bucky starts, but Happy clears his throat from the front seat.

“We’re, uh, we’re here,” he says, sounding a little embarrassed to be interrupting their conversation. Steve notices the car is stopped, and then Happy is hopping out and coming around to open the rear door of the limo.

Steve gives Bucky one last look before he slides out, onto the sidewalk. Bucky comes out behind him, and looks up at the marquee sign above their heads.

“Vintage Vid?” he asks, reading aloud. “What is this?”

Steve gestures toward the doors, not even trying to stop the grin that’s stealing across his face. “Go in and see,” he says.

At that moment, Tony steps out of the doors to greet them. “Boys!” he grins. “Nice of you to join us!”

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says, glad for the interruption. He blushes when Tony looks him up and down with a slight smirk on his face.

“You look good,” Tony says, stepping forward. He holds Steve’s gaze for a moment, then turns to grin at Bucky. “Clint’s already inside, dear boy. Come on in!”

He guides Bucky in through the doors, glancing back at Steve as they go.

Steve follows them inside.

++++++++++

Bucky gets a few steps in before he’s grinning, eyes wide with surprise as he looks around at the huge vintage arcade. The raucous sounds of beeping and trilling from various games – Steve sees Pac Man, Centipede, Asteroids, even a few pinball machines at first glance – blare out of the large space, different coloured lights flash everywhere, and Steve can see that it winds around like an oversized hallway, almost maze-like with its corners and corridors.

“Holy shit,” Bucky breathes. Tony grins beside him.

“Clint’s playing Dig Dug at the end of the hall, if you wanna go find him. If you’ll kindly look to your right, first, though, you’ll see one of our fantastic wait staff we have for the evening. Mitch, here,” Tony glances at the tall, buff, shirtless man wearing terribly tight bicycle shorts, a grin, and a bow-tie (and nothing else) as though in question, “it is Mitch, right? Whatever – Mitch, here, has an assortment of canapes and appetizers for your perusal. There is also a wide variety of punches and other non-alcoholic beverages – because your husband-to-be is a stubborn son of a bitch – if you get thirsty.”

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” Bucky says, more forcefully. Steve steps forward and claps him on the shoulder.

“Go have fun, Buck,” he says, trying not to think about their conversation in the limo.

Bucky shoots him a grin, then practically bounds off to  _ (find his fiance,  _ Steve doesn’t think _ ) _ check out the arcade.

“This place is amazing,” Steve says, smiling down at Tony. Tony moves a little closer so their shoulders are brushing. Steve’s whole body warms up – not just the top of his arm where he can feel Tony’s body heat radiating through the thin layers of cotton that separate them.

“You okay, Sunshine? You look like someone just told you there’s no Santa.”

Steve blinks, and forces a smile to stretch across his face. He’d thought he was hiding it better, but apparently Tony’s more observant.

Or, at least, observant of  _ him _ .

“No, it’s fine,” Steve insists. “Everyone having a good time?”

Tony eyes him for a moment longer before shrugging one shoulder up and starting to steer Steve down the noisy, flashing corridor. He places a hand on the small of Steve’s back to guide him. The heat of his hand, the firm strength there, makes Steve’s heart beat a little faster. But he can’t forget about the fact that Bucky had thought – honestly believed – that Steve would make fun of him for wanting to be a writer. Steve, who had spent his entire childhood, his entire adolescence, every moment of his life being picked on, beaten up, and teased.

Even his own father, military tall and strong, had mocked his sickly son, until he’d walked out on them.  

And Bucky actually thought he would do that to someone else, nevermind to someone he was so in love with.

“Hey,” Tony says, his face serious. He stops them, and takes hold of Steve’s elbow to stop him and turn him so they’re facing each other. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

Steve sighs, and gives Tony a trembling smile. “Sorry. Yeah. Just – it’s not important.”

“Seems like it might be important to you,” Tony says. His voice is glib, but Steve can see in the intensity of his eyes that Tony really cares.

His smile turns a little more genuine. “I’ll be okay. Just a conversation Bucky and I had in the car on the way over.”

“Everything okay?”

“It will be,” Steve insists. He claps his hands and rubs them together, trying to change the subject. “So, you said there was food around here?”

Tony grins at him. “Situated around the venue, you’ll find a large amount of scantily clad, muscular waiters,” he says, pitching his voice like a tour guide. “Each of those waiters is carrying a selection of snacks, and some of those snacks might be miniaturized versions of Holy Aioli sandwiches.”

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” Steve’s eyes go wide and he searches the waiters’ trays in his immediate vicinity. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“Because I was busy directing Bucky toward his fiancé. And because I wanted to be able to watch your face light up when I told you.”

Steve ignores the blush he feels rising to his cheeks, in favour of giving Tony a wide, bright smile, trying to convey without words his gratitude for both the thoughtfulness and the support. “Take me to the sandwiches, Tony.”

Tony grins back, gesturing toward a corridor to their left. “You bet, Sugarplum.” 

++++++++++

Later that evening, Steve finds himself sitting around a small table with Tony, Natasha, Bruce and Tony’s assistant, Ms. Potts.

“Please, call me Pepper,” she insists, when he asks her how long she’s lived in the area.

“Technically, her name is Virginia,” Tony says from beside him, his knee splaying out a little to rest against Steve’s thigh. Steve swallows hard at the contact. “But the only people allowed to call her that are her parents and, for some reason, Natasha over there.”

Natasha raises her non-alcoholic slushy drink toward Tony in salute. 

“The rest of us, should we address her as such, can expect a violent and painful death,” Tony continues.

Steve grins. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, raising his drink to Pepper.

They’re chatting amiably for a while, the group of them, when Pepper turns to address Steve directly.

“So, Tony tells me you’ve officially moved out here?”

Steve shrugs. “I still need to get some of my stuff shipped out, but for the most part, yeah. I found work, and for now I’m staying with Bucky.”

“Well, that’s wonderful. I think you’ll really enjoy L.A.,” she says. “It’s a great place for a young man like yourself to, you know, see the sights.”

“She means meet a lot of attractive people to casually bump uglies with,” Tony translates.

Steve blushes madly. “Oh, well, ma’am, I’m not really the, uh, ‘casual sight-seeing’ type.”

Tony snickers beside him, and Steve glances up to see that Pepper has arched an eyebrow in his direction, her mouth set firmly.

“Oh, you did not just ‘ma’am’ Pepper,” Tony says. Steve blushes.

“Sorry, ma – Pepper.”

Pepper holds the icy stare for a moment before her face splits in a wide, polished grin. “Say it again,” she says.

“Pepper?” Steve says, unsure.

“That’s right. No more ‘ma’am’, no more ‘Ms. Potts’, just Pepper. And if you’re nice enough, you might get permission for ‘Virginia.’”

“ _ I _ don’t even have permission for ‘Virginia,’” Tony complains. His knee is still butted up against Steve’s leg, and as he speaks, he drops his arm casually across the back of Steve’s chair, so Steve can feel the heat of him there, too. His mouth goes dry.

“Well, I guess that means you haven’t been nice enough,” Pepper grins, but Steve can’t really pay attention. Tony is beside him, touching him. Steve can smell his aftershave, can see a few stray grey hairs at his temples. Steve finds he’s drawn to the way his eyes dance as he and Pepper trade barbs.

He glances up, then. Bucky and Clint are over by the Space Invaders machine, acting like they’re alone in the room. Bucky has Clint crowded against the side of the machine, fingers hooked through Clint’s belt loops as they trade soft, lazy kisses and stare into each other’s eyes.

For Steve, time slows down. The flashing lights, the electronic beeping and tunes fade away, and all he can see are Bucky and Clint in the corner, acting like there’s no one else in the world.

His stomach sinks, his heart breaks. They look happy. They look completely and totally in love.

It makes Steve unaccountably want to cry.

He’s up to his feet before he even realizes he’s doing it, and makes his excuses to the table. “I’m gonna – I need some air, I’ll be –” 

He’s headed down the corridor, then, toward the exit, and bursting out onto the sidewalk, eyes burning.

The door opens behind him, and Tony’s there.

“Steve? What’s wrong?” He sounds concerned, so when Steve turns to look at him, he’s not surprised to see real worry in Tony’s eyes. Tony steps forward and his hand flinches, as though he’s reaching for Steve’s hand, but then he hesitates and drops it. “Are you okay?” 

“God, I’m an idiot,” Steve mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He feels like a fool. To be fantasizing about coming between Bucky and Clint, to think he deserves to be with someone like Bucky.

Bucky knows better, and that’s why Steve is here, alone, while Bucky’s getting married –  _ married _ – to someone else in a week.   _ Bucky _ knows he deserves better than Steve. Sickly, stupid, moves across the goddamn  _ country _ to chase after someone who doesn’t  _ love _ him,  _ idiot _ Steve.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony’s breaking into his inner chastisement, hands raising and actually making contact with his shoulders, one hand sliding up to wrap around the side of his neck, his thumb stroking Steve’s jaw a little. “Sunshine? You okay?”

Steve looks into Tony’s eyes, and suddenly he wonders,  _ what is he doing? _ He’s spent all this time chasing after Bucky – Bucky, who doesn’t want him, who’s  _ outgrown _ him – when the whole time, Tony has been offering him no-strings-attached sex. 

Suddenly, Steve’s not terribly concerned with doing the ‘right thing’. What he wants is to forget how stupid he is, to forget how humiliated he feels.

Steve surges forward then, tipping his head down and capturing Tony’s lips in a rough kiss.

His heart pounds, and a small sound creaks out of his throat – Tony’s mouth is amazing. For an instant, Tony is frozen, still, probably surprised, and then he’s giving as good as he’s getting, lips and teeth and tongue gnashing, sliding together with Steve’s, and that hand on the side of Steve’s neck wrapping around the back of his head, carding through his hair, keeping Steve’s lips on his.

 

_if you have downloaded this work to read on a mobile device, you can click[here](https://68.media.tumblr.com/5c8235f8c58bc434e9c561a6650ac7eb/tumblr_ohbkdrac0Q1u78j6zo1_400.jpg) to see the art._

They kiss like that for moments, but to Steve it feels like longer, and then Tony pulls away with a gasp. His lips are red and wet, swollen already from the kiss, and Steve wants nothing more than to kiss him again, and again and again.

Tony searches his gaze for a moment. “Steve,” he starts, and Steve licks his lips, still tasting Tony there.

“Fuck it,” Tony says after a second, pulling Steve’s head back down to his, and whispering against his lips. “I can get us a room at the Hilton across the street. Right now. Say yes.”

Steve knows he shouldn’t.  He knows he’s doing this right now, he’s doing this at all, just because he wants to forget.

But Tony looks so good in the light of the street, and that kiss had been, easily, the best kiss Steve had ever participated in. He can already feel his cock hardening in his jeans, just from that little bit of contact. Tony’s eyes are dark with desire, too.

It’s just casual sex to Tony, and that’s all Steve wants right now.  They’re both consenting adults, no one’s been drinking, and no one’s going to get hurt here.  Tony wants this, and Steve  _ needs _ this, and no one is stopping either of them.  

Steve takes a deep breath, and he nods, and when Tony holds out his hand, he slips his into it. 

++++++++++

Tony is kissing him against the door, while somehow still managing to insert the key card the right way. As soon as the little beep sounds, Tony’s hand is on the knob and they’re falling into the room, panting against each other, lips still connected. Steve’s heart is pounding as Tony presses against him, erection grinding against Steve’s thigh, pushing him further into the room.

Tony breaks the kiss and nips at Steve’s jaw, crowding him against the bed and pulling at the buttons on Steve’s shirt.

“This fucking shirt is a crime against physics,” Tony says. “And you need to be punished for it.”

“What –  _ oh _ – what’s wrong with my shirt?” Steve asks, as Tony sucks at his throat a little. 

“It’s too tight. Seriously, they don’t make buttons to withstand that kind of pressure, Sunshine.”

Steve lets out a breathy laugh as Tony pushes him back onto the bed, hands wandering over Tony’s hips as he crawls over him.

“Seriously, these poor buttons.” Tony is working at the buttons in question, deft fingers slipping them through their holes and slowly baring Steve’s skin. Goosebumps raise where Tony’s breath ghosts over his flesh, and Steve can’t help but push his hips up against Tony’s.

Tony shifts to straddle him and finish working at the shirt. 

“See how much better that is, now?” Tony murmurs, spreading it open and letting his hands slide over bare skin. Steve shivers at the touch, then decides he’d like to see more of Tony right now, too. 

He pushes at Tony’s T-shirt, revealing smooth, rippled abs, and lets his thumbs trace the contours of muscle. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Tony murmurs, pressing another kiss to Steve’s jaw when Steve skips a thumb over one of his nipples. “Now, tell me what you like.”

Steve’s heart skips. He doesn’t even know how to answer the question. He wants to touch Tony all over, wants Tony to touch him, but he doesn’t know the specifics, or where to begin to explain what he wants.

“I can’t – God – can’t think straight when you’re doing that,” he says, when Tony’s hot, wet tongue works its way down to his chest, pulling a dusky, brown nipple into his mouth. He worries it gently with his teeth, and Steve makes a sound that can’t be described as anything intelligible.  Even he couldn’t have said what it meant if he tried.

“Mm,” Tony says, pulling away with a wet noise. He looks up at Steve with a wicked grin. “Okay, fine. I can stop, and you can tell me what you like.” 

“I’m not – I don’t –”

Tony freezes, and looks at Steve with narrowed eyes. “This isn’t your first rodeo, is it?”

“No,” Steve assures him, feeling his cheeks heat up. “No, definitely not. Not  –”

“Steve,” says Tony slowly, drawing his name out.  “It’s okay.  I just need you to be honest here.”

“I’ve – uh, I, I don’t –”

“Steve.”  

“I’ve mostly been out with women? I mean, I’ve dated men, but I don’t – I haven’t really –” 

Tony raises an eyebrow slowly. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. So. You want – okay, I can work with this. If you’re not sure what all you like, we can figure it out together.” Tony leans up and kisses Steve, and this time it’s not the heated, sexually-charged passion of their previous kisses, it’s more gentle, more serious. Steve swallows, trying to catch his breath, his heart pounding at the sensation.

“Okay,” Steve says, when Tony pulls back and meets his eyes. 

“Okay,” Tony agrees. That wicked grin comes back, and he rolls his hips once, grinding against Steve’s unfaltering erection, before sliding down Steve’s thighs so that his mouth is hovering over his chest.

“Do you like it when I play with your nipples?” Tony asks. He demonstrates by pulling one in between his lips and sucking at it, tongue flicking across it, while he rolls the other between his fingers.

Steve’s hips thrust up, and he throws his head back a little, gasping. He lets out a little moan.

“That’s not an answer,” Tony says, catching the nipple in between his teeth. “Gonna need you to use your words.”

Steve’s face burns, but his cock jumps, too. “Yes,” he pants out. 

“Yes what?” Tony grins, waggling his eyebrows cheekily.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yes, Tony, I like it when you play with my nipples.”

Tony rewards him with a nip to the underside of his pec, and Steve can’t hold back a little cry at the sharp pleasure.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Tony smirks, before sliding down a little lower and pressing a wet kiss against Steve’s stomach.

“Speaking of crimes against science,” he says, sucking at a rib.

“What’s wrong with my stomach?” Steve asks, a little disbelieving laughter in his voice.

“Wrong? Oh, no, honey, I didn’t say wrong. I said it was  _ criminal _ . Seriously, how does a human being achieve this?” Another nip to his belly, near his navel, and Steve burbles out a laugh on a moan – it feels good, it feels  _ amazing _ , but it also fucking  _ tickles _ . 

Tony’s eyes grow sharp and focused. “Ticklish? I’m gonna remember that for later. For right now, though…”

Tony’s hands move to the waistband of Steve’s jeans, fingers grasping onto the button and holding there, while he glances up at Steve’s face again. “We good?”

Steve swallows, knowing he should stop, should leave, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Can’t bring himself to stop the sensations happening to him, can’t bring himself to walk away from the teasing, wicked look that Tony’s giving him.

He jerks out a nod, and Tony dips his tongue into Steve’s belly button before unsnapping the jeans and pulling the zipper down torturously slowly.

Then he’s pushing at the denim and Steve is lifting his hips to help, and together they push Steve’s jeans and underwear all the way down to his knees, further, and then off.

Tony glances up, eyes zeroing in on Steve’s cock, hard and flushed and resting against his belly. A little noise escapes his throat and then he’s kissing his way up from Steve’s knees, up his thighs, little presses of lips, sucking and nibbling, working his way up to Steve’s hips.

Steve is breathing hard, fingers clenched in the sheets as Tony moves up, over him, until his cheek bumps against Steve’s dick and then he moans, the sensation of that soft beard against his sensitive flesh driving all thought from his mind.

“Do you like this?” Tony asks, and his voice is a low, dangerous rumble. “Do you want my mouth on you?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate this time, doesn’t blush. “God, yes, please,” he breathes.

Tony presses a hot, wet kiss to the side of his shaft, and Steve’s hips lurch up, his cock twitches, his fingers clench harder into the bedspread.

Tony rewards him by pulling the tip into his hot, wet mouth, and pushing down, sucking and swallowing and swirling his tongue as he pulls Steve deeper and deeper into him.

For one hysterical moment, Steve wonders what he’s done to deserve this pleasure. He’s never – he’s had sex before, he’s had blowjobs, but this is a whole new level. Tony’s skilled mouth is tight and perfect around him, hands roaming over Steve’s thighs, his hips, his balls, back to cup his ass cheek, then up his body to grab hold of his shoulder.

Steve can’t help but run his fingers through Tony’s hair, struggling to keep his hips still, trying to keep himself from thrusting into that inviting heat.

Tony moans around him, just a quiet sound, and Steve cries out, panting. Tony draws up, sucking hard, until just the head of Steve’s cock is between his lips, and then slowly slides down, down, throat convulsing and constricting around him, until he’s all the way in –  somehow, Tony has taken him deep, into his tight, hot throat, nose buried in Steve’s pubic hair.

Steve cries out, nonsense syllables and a low stream of, “Fuck, Tony, fuck, so good, please, please.”

Then, because Steve is clearly being  _ punished _ for something, Tony  _ stops _ and pulls off, sucking the whole way up, and sits back on his heels, both hands resting on Steve’s thighs.

Steve stares up at him, trying to catch his breath, trying to focus. Trying to remember his own name.

“Jesus, you’re hot,” Tony says, voice a little hoarse. His thumbs rub little circles on the inside of Steve’s thighs, and he moans dizzily. 

“Okay, Brooklyn, we’ve got two options here,” Tony says, eyes dark with lust. Steve swallows and returns the gaze. 

“I’m happy to keep doing what I’m doing here. You are – God, you’re so responsive, and watching you fall apart when I suck you off is just – well, it’s just fascinating,” he grins. “So I can keep doing that. Let you fuck my mouth until you come. You wanna do that?”

“Oh, fuck,” Steve moans, cock twitching.

“‘Course you do. Or...” Tony says, squeezing Steve’s thighs, eyes darkening even more. He licks his lips, glances down at Steve’s cock again and lets his hands roam up the inside of Steve’s thighs, gently pushing them apart. Steve lets his legs open, panting again as Tony’s thumbs press into the creases of his groin, a low sound of satisfaction coming from above him. 

“Or,” Tony chuckles, continuing after a moment. “I can stop now, and open you up, get inside that hot, tight ass of yours.”

Steve’s whole body shudders, lusty and desperate, because  _ yes _ , he wants that, wants Tony in him, and over him. Wants to ride Tony until he can’t even  _ see. _

“Fuck, yes,” he moans. “Please, Tony, yes.”

“Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” Tony whispers harshly, sliding up Steve’s body to press their lips together. Tony’s tongue delves inside, and Steve can’t help but suck on it, hands going around to Tony’s back.

The rough fabric of Tony’s jeans presses against his cock, and the feeling is such a departure from the silky wet heat of Tony’s mouth that Steve cries out, breaking the kiss.

“Pants off,” he moans, shoving at Tony’s clothes roughly, trying to bare every inch of skin. 

Tony chuckles, and it’s low and sexy, and Steve pushes at his shirt, finally pushing it up over Tony’s head before his hands are scrabbling at the buttons of Tony’s jeans.

Tony helps him then, climbing off Steve – he whines at the loss of contact, even though it means more of Tony’s golden skin will be on display, available for him to touch.

Together they push Tony’s pants off, and then Steve rolls, pushing Tony back, needing to touch more skin. His big hands roam over Tony’s body, over his chest, his belly, his hips, and then his cock.

It’s big, Steve thinks, for Tony’s size. It’s long and straight, wide enough around that he’s worried his own inexperience with this sort of thing will come back to bite him in the, well, ass.

“That’s it, Sunshine,” Tony groans, when Steve wraps his hand around that hard length and strokes it from root to tip and back down again. 

Steve leans in and presses a soft kiss to Tony’s tip, and Tony swipes a thumb across Steve’s cheek in return. 

“Can I?” Steve asks, suddenly nervous. He hasn’t done this  _ all _ that much, and Tony had made him feel so good. But he wants to know what Tony tastes like, what he feels like in Steve’s mouth, the sounds he’ll make when Steve gives him even half that amount of pleasure.

“Sure you can, Gorgeous,” Tony grins, eyes bright, breath shallow. 

Steve takes a deep breath in, wills himself to relax, and licks his lips before he wraps his lips around Tony’s cock and slowly slides down.

It’s warm, and velvety soft but hard like steel. It tastes like musk and salt, not quite bitter, but not sweet, either. Steve presses down, then bobs his head up and down for a bit, getting used to the feel of his lips stretching around it.

“That’s it, Sweetheart. Not too fast, now. Let me feel you suck on it.”

Steve shivers at the words, his own cock twitching with desire. He whimpers quietly, wrapping one hand around the base of Tony’s cock so he can stroke what he can’t get into his mouth. Tony may have been able to take him to the root – and even the memory of that feeling has his groin tightening in response – but Steve’s not able to do that.

So he bobs and sucks and licks, making up for what he lacks in skill with, he hopes, enthusiasm.

If Tony’s moans are anything to go by, he’s doing fairly well.

“Fuck, Sunshine, look at you, you look so good, and your mouth feels – ah – fuck, you’re gorgeous, you’re so sweet for me, look how much you – you – oh, god – look at me,” Tony gasps out, hands buried in Steve’s hair and tugging, just a little. His hips are rolling into the rhythm of Steve’s mouth, and Steve opens his eyes, looking up through his eyelashes as he keeps moving, keeps sucking.

Tony looks  _ wrecked _ , completely debauched, eyes almost black in the low light, face flushed, mouth slack and open.

_ Oh, God, _ Steve thinks.  _ I’m going to make him  _ come. It’s so hot, he thrills at it. It’s such a heady feeling, knowing he could put that look on Tony’s face, he could make Tony – Steve moans and bobs faster, trying to get Tony deeper into his mouth, trying to make him feel good, trying to make him  _ come _ , because Steve could  _ do _ that, he could just –

Tony is pulling him up by the jaw, by the hair, dragging him away from that hot, heavy cock on his tongue, and Steve whines, he can’t help it, he was so close to – Tony chuckles, hauls Steve up so he can kiss him, presses their mouths together and moans.

He pulls back, hands cradling Steve’s face as Steve rolls his hips, grinding their cocks together, trying to get more friction, more sensation. Tony grins, panting. “I’ve only got the one in me, Sunshine,” he says. “Don’t wanna waste it. Wanna open you up, wanna – wanna be in you when I come. You want that?”

Steve almost comes then, just the  _ thought _ of – he whines, hips thrusting down, pressing desperate kisses to Tony’s throat, hands clutching and roaming.

Tony chuckles, rolls them gently, then reaches down to where his jeans are pooled at the foot of the bed. He digs in the pocket while one hand keeps rubbing up and down Steve’s thigh.

He returns with a small, single-use packet of lube, and a condom.

“You still good with this, sweetheart?” Tony asks, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to Steve’s chin.

Steve knows, this is when he should stop it. He should – but Jesus, he can’t even fathom walking away from this moment, from this pleasure.

“I’m sure,” he says, nodding. Tony kisses his way up Steve’s body, until they’re eye to eye again.

“Turn over, sweetheart,” Tony says to him, gently brushing at his jawline with a thumb.

Steve meets his eye for a moment. He searches Tony’s gaze, looking for – he doesn’t know. Something. Anything. What he sees there is gentleness, happiness, and – and something else he has no name for, but it makes him want this even more.

He takes a breath, and he takes a chance – he rolls over, keeping his eyes locked on Tony’s as he does so, until the very last moment.

Once he’s situated on his front, Tony runs a gentle hand from his neck, down his spine, to the curve of his ass, bringing the other hand up to use his thumbs to spread Steve’s cheeks, just a little, and letting out a groan.

“God, you look good all spread out for me,” Tony murmurs, hands kneading the muscles of Steve’s ass.

Steve moans back, pressing up into the contact. He hears the sound of the lube packet being opened, then cool gel on Tony’s warm fingers, dipping into his crack, trailing down, brushing lightly over his hole, back and forth. He whimpers, spreading his legs a little wider.

Then one of those fingers, blunt and warm, presses  _ in _ , and it – well, honestly, it burns. He tenses. He tries not to, he knows it’ll be better if he doesn’t, but he can’t help it. He can’t  _ see _ –

“Relax, sweetheart,” Tony says. His hands are gentle, his finger is careful, but it still – Steve tries to relax, he does, but he knows the resistance is – “You’re okay, Steve, you’re okay,” Tony says, pressing a gentle kiss to the middle of his back. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, face flaming, embarrassment tingling in his extremities. “Just give me a –”

“Shh,” Tony says, dry hand caressing down Steve’s flank, and he tries, he really does, but he just can’t – “Turn over, Steve,” Tony says, voice soft. “Turn around and look at me.”

Steve turns his head, meets Tony’s eyes, and he thinks this is it, Tony will tell him to go, that he needs a lover who can handle –

“Steve,” Tony says, voice gentle but firm, breaking into his thoughts. “It’s okay. Just turn over onto your back.”

Steve rolls, and Tony leans up on one elbow alongside him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, sorry. Just – nervous.”

“You’ve done this before, right?”

Steve hesitates. “I mean, technically –”

“Steve, have you done this before?”

Steve sighs, covers his eyes with a hand. “I’ve had sex, Tony. I have. Just not – I mean, a finger or two, sure, but nothing –”

“Okay,” says Tony.  “Okay, that’s fine,” shushing him with another kiss when he opens his mouth, giving him an encouraging smile. “Do you still want me to –”

“Yes,” Steve says immediately. “Yes,  _ please _ ,” Steve says, rearing up for another kiss, this time harder than the last.

Tony chuckles and lengthens the kiss, letting his tongue dip into Steve’s mouth, and Steve sighs into the contact.

“Okay, then, sweetheart. We’ll keep going.”

Then Tony is moving toward the foot of the bed. He kneels in between Steve’s spread legs, and spreads them further. He grabs a pillow and shoves it under Steve’s hips before he leans in and sucks one of Steve’s balls into his mouth, that slick finger tracing over his hole again, and this time, Steve can look down and see him, see Tony’s eyes staring up at him, warm, twinkling brown and dark with lust. Steve’s cock, which had flagged a little, starts to harden again, and this time Tony’s finger enters more easily, and Steve can make his body relax. Tony presses in, all the way to the second knuckle, and Steve moans because it doesn’t burn this time, the stretch is weird but it’s nice.

Tony moves his mouth to Steve’s cock, sucking and licking at the tip while his finger pushes in and out, spreading lube inside Steve’s body and stretching his entrance at the same time.

Steve is grateful that Tony keeps his mouth to the head of his cock, rather than opening his throat and going all the way down. Right now, that would be just too much. This, though… God, this is perfect.

He moans, hands searching for purchase somewhere, and then Tony’s hand – the one not currently stretching him open – is there, fingers twining with Steve’s, and he grips it. That connection, that sense of support and safety – Steve moans, heart pounding, and then there’s a second finger at his entrance, pushing, stretching, filling, and it goes in with a bit of a burn but no pain. He keens, heels digging into the mattress as he tries to get it deeper inside him. 

Tony obliges, pushing in, fingers scissoring after a few thrusts, and Steve’s never felt anything like it. Not really. Tony’s hands are gentle but firm, making Steve’s body thrum with sensation, his mouth hot and wet around Steve’s cock.

He’s panting and squirming by the time Tony pushes in a third finger, trying to get more, trying to get something else, he doesn’t know. Tony thrusts in and out for another moment, then pulls all three fingers all the way out.

Steve whines at the loss, can feel his hole open and ready, and clamps down, trying to get those fingers back.

Tony chuckles a little, pulling off Steve’s cock and sitting back on his haunches. He tears open the condom package with his teeth, takes a moment to roll it on, and uses the remainder of the lube to slick his cock up. He leans forward, into the cradle of Steve’s hips, and stops.

Steve, eyes wild and desperate, makes a noise of want.

“You’re sure, now?” Tony asks, and his voice nearly trembles, he sounds so – so quiet, lacking the brash confidence Steve is used to seeing from him.

“Please, Tony,  _ please, _ ” Steve moans, trying to push his hips back, down, anything to get Tony inside of him.

Then Tony is kissing him, pushing in at the same time, and – he’s big, bigger than the three fingers would have – or maybe it just feels that way because Tony’s cock is going deeper, all the way in, one steady, slow thrust forward until Steve can feel hip bones against the backs of his thighs.

“God, you’re so tight,” Tony groans, biting his lip. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Steve just moans, hands going up to grip Tony’s biceps, breath fast and unsteady.

“You still okay, honey?” Tony asks him, pressing another kiss to Steve’s lips. “You feel good?”

“Please, Tony, please move,” he whines. He knows he should be embarrassed, he’s never been so wanton, so needy before, but Tony is just – he feels so – God, Steve just needs him to  _ move _ .

Tony pulls back, then, and thrusts forward, and this time Steve cries out, because he can feel every inch of Tony inside him, can feel Tony brushing over his prostate and it feels – of course he’d tried to stimulate his own prostate before, but it had never – never felt like this. Never felt like fire on his skin and ice in his veins, sparks behind his eyes and a curling in his toes.

He cries out, rolling his hips up to try and get more, more of that amazing – Tony chuckles, a little breathless, and then they’re kissing again as Tony keeps thrusting, stroking forward, hitting Steve in that same spot, over and over, as he cries out and whines, trying to urge Tony to move faster.

It’s never felt –  _ God, this is what people talk about, isn’t it? _ Steve thinks.  _ This is what sex is supposed to feel like. _ How has he never – how has he gone his whole life without this feeling? How can anything feel this good? How can he survive this ever  _ stopping _ ?

He’s crying out with each thrust, and Tony is murmuring over him, panting words into his mouth – words like  _ hot _ and  _ tight _ and  _ sweet _ and  _ gorgeous. _ Steve can’t focus on them, can’t understand them. All he can do is feel Tony inside him, hot and heavy and perfect.

Tony is holding himself up on one elbow, his other hand moving between them, wrapping itself around Steve’s cock. There’s still some lube on it, so it’s hot and slick, and then Tony’s tight fist is stroking him, fast and rough, and Steve can feel it building in him, can feel his blood rushing, his balls drawing up tight, his body clenching and then –

Spots of lights behind his eyelids, his own hoarse voice crying out into the night. His whole body is shaking, trembling, clenching around Tony’s cock in him, as Tony grinds forward, moaning and whispering, and Steve can’t hear the words over the rush of blood in his ears as he comes, and comes and comes. 

He can’t hear Tony cry out his name, his actual name, muffled into the crook of Steve’s neck as Tony’s own orgasm crashes over him. He can’t hear himself whimpering as his body shivers and shakes. He can do nothing but feel. 

++++++++++

He wakes with a start, and it hits him all at once. Now that the euphoric high of his orgasm has dissipated, he can think clearly again, and he realizes the magnitude of what he's done.

Tony is lying half on top of him, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, just watching him. He gives a little stretch.

“We're going to have to do that again,” Tony grins, carefully pulling out, fingers holding the condom on his cock as he slips away. He flops down on the mattress beside Steve, who puts both hands over his face and rolls away, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

“This was – oh, God, we shouldn't have done this.”

“What’s wrong?” Tony asks immediately, a trace of alarm in his voice as he props himself up on an elbow.  “Steve. Steve, slow down sweetheart,” Tony says, as Steve stands up and starts frantically hunting for his clothes. “Are you okay?  I thought –”  Tony’s voice sounds concerned, worried, but Steve doesn’t have time to think about it.  

“I'm sorry, Tony. I'm – I'm in love with someone else, this was a mistake.” 

Tony stares a moment before he huffs out a laugh, tight and brittle. “You think I don't know that, Sunshine? God, I've been watching you with him for a month. I know you're in love with him. The thing you seem to be struggling with is that  _ he's _ not in love with  _ you _ .”

Steve's jaw tightens and he zips up his jeans. “Tony, you don't know –”

“Don't I?”

“If he knew how I felt – I just gotta tell him.”

Tony laughs again, and this time it's cold. “If you honestly thought that you would have done it by now, and you wouldn't be here with me.”

“I really am sorry, Tony. I shouldn't have – this wasn't fair to you.”

Tony scoffs, and his eyes glitter coolly as he stands and pulls his slacks on. “Don't worry about it, Rogers. I'm not exactly lacking in bed partners – one and done, you know? I got a crack at that ass, now I can move on to the next.”

Steve feels cold inside. Like he's made a mistake – or he's still making it. Like Tony's words are cutting him deep, where he didn't think he could be touched. He hesitates, then pulls his shirt over his head and heads for the door.

“He doesn't love you back,” Tony finally says, voice bitter, just as Steve's about to leave the room. “He's getting married next week because he's in love with someone else. Whatever you're about to do? It's wrong.”

Steve moves toward the door, but Tony keeps talking, even as he stands and pulls his own slacks on, not bothering to fasten his fly all the way. He turns to grab his shirt off the floor.

"It was easier to tell yourself you loved him so you could protect yourself from everyone else. You’re telling yourself it’s love, but it's just that he’s safe, and you don’t want to let go.  You’re afraid to let go, to let him go or to let anyone else in.  You think that if you do, everything will fall apart, that you’ll lose everything, and so you’re afraid to even try.  But it won’t, you know.  Everything’s already changed, is changing–you just don’t want to accept it.  You’d rather hide from everything and everyone than accept that you might be wrong.”  

Steve shakes his head. “You're the one that’s wrong. I do love him, and I have to tell him, Tony. If I don't tell him, I'll regret it for the rest of my life.”

Tony finishes buttoning his shirt, and glances over his shoulder. “Everybody has regrets, Rogers. They're not always such a bad thing.”

Steve doesn't answer, he just pulls on his boots and walks towards the door. 

Just as he puts his hand on the doorknob, Tony says quietly, “You think you’ll lose him if you let someone else in.  But you never had him, not in the way you think.  And if you let yourself love someone else, if you let someone else love you – you don’t have to let him go.  All you have to let go of is your  _ idea _ of him. But you won’t, and so it doesn’t matter. Just a word of advice, for what it’s worth: don’t destroy the parts of him you  _ do _ have because you want something that doesn’t exist.”  

Steve doesn’t turn around, and he doesn’t say anything. He just opens the door and leaves the room, leaves the hotel and goes home. 

++++++++++

Steve gets back to Bucky’s house, and the first thing he does is shower. He instantly misses the scent of Tony that had been lingering on his skin, but at the same time he feels vaguely dirty, as though he's done something he isn't proud of. He honestly can't decide if it was sleeping with Tony in the first place, or if it's the fact that he left right after.

Tony’s wrong.  He loves Bucky, he does.  But … 

Tony is ... Tony is amazing. He's never met anyone so smart, so quick, so witty. And Tony has this way of being generous without making it seem like a big deal. As though it doesn't occur to him to  _ not _ give something, and doesn't understand how appreciated it could be.  And Tony is especially generous, especially giving – not just with his money, but with his time, with his attention, with himself – with those he cares about. Steve has caught himself wondering, in small moments, what it might be like to be loved by someone like that, to let himself be loved by someone like that.

And Tony is vulnerable in a way that he doesn't let anyone see. Steve feels even more like a heel, knowing that. He's seen Tony's vulnerability first-hand. Just this evening, when Steve had broken their heated first kiss outside the arcade, Tony had looked unsure, disbelieving for the first second. As though he didn’t expect Steve to want him. And here he is, treating Tony like he's disposable.

God, Steve can't believe he's used Tony like this. Flirting with him had been bad enough – and what, to make Bucky jealous?

Sure, Bucky had been jealous. But had it been worth hurting Tony?

Steve isn't so sure anymore. He feels a churning in his belly, and knows it's guilt.

He crawls into bed, but sleep won't come. He has to figure out what to do. He knows he needs to apologize to Tony properly.

But more than anything, he has to talk to Bucky. 

++++++++++

It's time.

In the morning, he crawls out of bed where he had spent the night tossing and turning. He throws on sweatpants and a T-shirt, first heading to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. He watches it drip into the pot, then pours two cups when the pot is still only half full. He holds both mugs by the handles and heads down the hall, knocking on Bucky’s bedroom door. 

He waits a few moments. Bucky answers, obviously sleep-rumpled, wearing only pyjama pants. Steve can see past his shoulder well enough to see that Clint is rolled up in the blankets on the bed.

“Stevie?” he asks, voice groggy. “Something wrong?”

“I – Buck, I need to talk to you,” Steve says, handing Bucky one of the mugs. “Can you come out to the living room?”

Bucky takes the mug and immediately follows Steve out to the living room.

Steve sits down on the edge of the couch, heart racing.

“What's wrong, Steve?” Bucky asks, sitting beside him. He looks so concerned, and Steve almost wants to laugh.

“I need to tell you something. It's really important.”

“I'm all ears, pal.”

Steve takes a deep breath. He meets Bucky's eyes, and opens his mouth to speak. But he can't quite bring himself to say the words yet. It would be so simple –  _ Bucky, I'm in love with you _ .

But he can't. The words catch in his throat. Clint is just down the hall, and suddenly he’s not – the words stick in his throat, and he can’t say it.

And suddenly, looking at Bucky’s familiar, beloved face – suddenly, Steve’s not so sure of the words, himself.

“How did you know?” he catches himself asking instead.  “With Clint, I mean. That it was real.”

“What do you – what do you mean? How did I know I love him?”

“Yeah. How did you know it was real love, enough to know you wanted to marry him so fast? Without worrying about it being a mistake?”

Bucky just stares at him for a moment, eyes searching. Finally, he gives Steve a gentle smile.

“The first time I met Clint, I told you we met at a bar. I never told you I was there for a date with someone else.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, but keeps looking at the tiled floor of the room.

“I'd been stood up. It was – we met on some online service, and we were talking for weeks, and he stood me up, so I was sitting at this bar alone, drinking beer and feeling sorry for myself. And Clint came up to me and asked if he could buy me a drink.”

“So you said yes.”

“No, I didn't even look at him, I just said thanks, but I would be terrible company. You know what he said to me? He said 'I don't need you to be good company. I just need someone as cute as you to stop looking so sad over here. Someone like you should be happy all the time.' So I looked up at him, and our eyes met, and it was like all those terrible movies, where you just know. It wasn't just that he was hot. It was how soft his eyes were. Like, he didn't pity me, he just wanted to make it better. So we talked all night, and we had breakfast in the morning.”

“So how did you know you were in love?”

“No one's ever made me feel the way he does, Steve. Like I'm worth more than anything I ever thought of myself. Like I could, I don't know, kill someone, and he'd be mad but he'd still love me. He still gives me butterflies. He's the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of at night. He makes me laugh all the time, but when I need to rant about my day, he just listens, and he gets all indignant on my behalf.”

Bucky grins, rubbing a hand through his hair self-consciously. “He makes me feel like a hero, somehow, Steve. No matter what I do, he always looks so proud to know me. So proud to be with me. He calls me out on my bullshit, and he never holds a grudge. My heart races every time I know I'm going to see him. I can't imagine what my life would be like if I'd never met him. I never want to be with anyone else.”

Steve stares at his hands for a moment.  _ I always thought you were a hero, too,  _ he thinks. He never knew Bucky didn’t know it. Never knew that Bucky didn’t know how proud Steve was, always, to call him his friend.  

“I just know I love him,” Bucky says quietly, after a moment. “All the inside jokes, and the goofy smiles, and the amazing sex. I just want to know how his day was, and I can't wait to tell him about mine. He's all the good parts of me, and the better version of all the bad parts of me.”

And that's when Steve realizes – Bucky is a part of him. Bucky will always be a part of him. But all those things Bucky's just described? It's not Bucky's face Steve is picturing when he thinks of these feelings.

It's Tony's.

“Oh, God, Buck. I have fucked up.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why don't you like it when Tony flirts with me?” Steve asks instead of answering. He’s been telling himself it was because Bucky was jealous, but he hadn’t been completely sure. He feels like he needs an answer for that before he tells Bucky anything. Like the answer to that will dictate the rest of his life.

Bucky sighs. “Because – he's  _ Tony _ . He's... Stevie, he's exactly your type – smart and witty and he'd love you with his whole heart, and if you fall for him he can  _ destroy _ you, and I don't want that for you.”

“You think he would?” It comes out quiet, and Steve feels a little breathless. Part of him wants to pull a fist back and deck Bucky for thinking that way about Tony, that Tony would intentionally hurt him. But the other part of him, the part of him that watched his father return after his tour only to walk out again, the part that watched his mother turn into a shadow of her former self waiting for him to never come back, can’t help but think that’s what he’s been worried about this whole time, himself.

“I think he  _ could _ . I don't think he'd do it on purpose, but Steve, if you let yourself get to know him, if you let yourself love him – I don't want to see anyone hurt you, and Tony has the power to.”

“I slept with him.”

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky says, reaching over and squeezing Steve's hand. “Tony's my friend. I like him. If  _ you _ like him –”

“I think I might be a little bit in love with him. Or, at least, I could get there in a hurry.”

Steve expects Bucky to be disappointed in him, which is maybe why his voice is so low, so ragged. He thinks about Tony's face, earlier tonight when they'd made love, when Tony had gently pushed into him, and the small, sweet smile afterward, before Steve had fucked everything up so badly.

But Bucky just smiles at him. “I figured.”

“You did?”

Bucky knocks his shoulder against Steve's. “Steve, I've been watching you two together for a month. I've seen how you look at him when you think no one's watching. And then you both disappeared last night. What else was I going to think?”

“I think I screwed it up, though. I – I blew him off.”

“Idiot,” Bucky sighs, still smiling. “Always doing the stupid thing. Why don't you ever trust anyone?”

“I trust  _ you _ .”

Bucky shakes his head. “Then trust me when I say, you gotta stop holding everyone at arm's length. I was worried Tony was gonna hurt you, but maybe that's okay. I think about ... the way Clint could fucking  _ vaporize _ me if he wanted. Like a perfect shot straight to my soul, and I  _ still _ wouldn't give up how happy I am. I'm gonna marry that man next weekend.” He glances at the calendar on the wall. “Six days. Jesus, Stevie, I'm gonna marry the man of my dreams, and it doesn't matter that he could break my heart. I trust that he wouldn't, and I trust that even if he had no choice, I would still do it all over again so I could be this happy.”

Steve remembers something Tony had said last night.  Right before he’d fallen asleep.  Tony had been running his hand gently through Steve’s hair, and Steve remembers feeling so -- so loved, and wanted, and  _ safe _ . He thinks that Tony hadn’t known he was still awake, because his words were so quiet, and so sad.  _ “You learned to trust him before you realized that not everyone could be trusted. You trust him, and you’re afraid that can’t happen with anyone else. Well, it can, Steve. You can trust someone else -- and someone else can, and will, love you back, if only you’d let him.” _

Steve stares at Bucky for a moment and then pulls him into a tight hug.

“How do I fix it?” Steve asks him. “I blew him off; he's gotta hate me.”

Bucky sighs. “Who knew you'd be the one to do the hurting?” He pulls back and looks Steve in the eye. “We'll figure it out, Stevie. You just need to talk to him.”

Steve gives a hollow laugh at that. Telling people how he feels hasn't exactly been his strong suit of late. “What if he won't talk to me?”

Bucky shrugs. “Why wouldn't he?”

“I... I was a little bit of an asshole. Or a lot of an asshole.”

“So tell him you know you were an asshole and go from there.”

Steve swallows. “What if...?”

“Steve. Seriously. I got back to the house about two hours ago. I need to go back to sleep. Take the car, go back to Tony’s house, knock on the door, and go have more sex. It'll be fine.”

Steve scrubs his hands over his face roughly, standing up off the bed. “You're right. I'm sorry. I should let you get some sleep.”

Some tiny part of Steve is quietly sad. There's a slight sense of loss, but in his heart, Steve knows it's not the loss of Bucky; it's not that Bucky is going to marry someone else. He's grieving the comfort of predictability in his feelings for Bucky. He's spent so many years thinking Bucky was the one for him, and now that knowledge is being folded away in a box.

At the same time, there's a sense of newness, of possibility, that he hadn't felt earlier last night, before he had gone to that hotel with Tony.

“It's fine. Go get laid, and I'll see you later,” Bucky says with a grin, clapping Steve on the back.

Steve gives him another hug, and then stands in the living room after Bucky goes back to his room and closes the door. He takes a fortifying breath, then grabs up Bucky’s car keys. 

++++++++++

He gets to Tony's house, and he knocks on the front door. After a few moments of silence, he knocks again.

“What, did he reject you?” Tony's voice comes from an intercom speaker beside the door. It's cold and harsh.

“Can I please come in, Tony?”

“Fuck off.”

“Tony, come on.”

“Go away, Steve. I already fucked you, remember? I don't want to cuddle now.”

“Please.”

“The great love of your life didn't sweep you into his arms and ask you to run away with him?” Steve's chest feels tight at the vicious, bitter tone in Tony's voice. It sounds like breaking glass.

Steve thinks he hears the sound of ice clinking in a glass under Tony’s voice, and his heart lurches.

“Tony, are you drinking?”

“Who fucking cares if I am?”

“Tony, please. Please let me in.”

Tony lets out a loud sigh. “I'm not fucking drinking. Go away before I call security.”

“Tony...”

“I mean it, Steve. We had a nice time, and everything is fine. Go home – there’s nothing for you here. I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner. Unless the wedding is off? Did one of the grooms find a new love?”

Steve sighs. “That’s what I want to talk to you about, Tony.”

“Is there still a wedding? Or do I need to go talk Clint off the ledge?” Tony's voice is quieter, more serious. Concerned for his friend.

“There's still a wedding,” Steve says, resting his forehead against the door. “I really want to talk to you.”

“You  _ really _ don't,” Tony disagrees, ice clinking. “Now go away.”

The intercom clicks, a signal that Tony has turned it off. Steve's worried about that ice, about the possibility that Tony is drinking, but he knows this is his own fault. After a few moments, he walks back to the car and drives home.

He'll make Tony listen tomorrow. 

++++++++++

Steve wakes up the morning of the rehearsal dinner feeling wrung out and brittle. He hadn't slept well, of course – his mind was plagued with regret, whirling a mile a minute, and he’d been nervous – still is – about finally seeing Tony again tonight. He’d tried texting and calling Tony all week, and hadn’t received a single response. 

He has a quick, cold shower, hoping the briskness will make him more alert. Not only is his best friend getting married tomorrow, but he also has to try and convince Tony that he knows he made a mistake. That  _ Tony _ is the one he wants to be with.

Besides, he’s been missing Tony all week.

After his shower, he throws on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, pours himself a strong cup of coffee from the pot in the kitchen, and heads out of the house, snatching Bucky’s keys on his way out the door.

He drives out to Malibu, parks the car in Tony’s ridiculous driveway, and goes to sit on the front steps of the mansion with his back against the door. He sips at his coffee while he flips through his email, Facebook, and Twitter on his phone.

He sits there for an hour before the intercom clicks at him.

“Jesus, you're persistent,” Tony sighs through the speaker, sipping loudly at what Steve assumes (hopes) is a cup of coffee. “Don't you have anything better to do?”

“No,” Steve says simply. “Can I come in? Can we please talk?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Seriously, you're like a terrier. I don't know about you, but I have a rehearsal dinner to get ready for tonight. It's kind of a big deal.”

“Tony, please. I just want to talk to you.”

“Then talk.”

Steve sighs and stares at the speaker for a moment, but Tony doesn’t say anything more.

Steve clears his throat a little. “I made a mistake. I thought – I think you were right about me. And how I feel about Bucky.”

Tony lets out a bark of laughter – it sounds almost cruel.

“I love him – of course I do,” Steve starts, putting a hand on the side of the house beside the speaker. Tony hasn’t disconnected the intercom yet, so Steve soldiers on. “But it's not the kind of love that – I'm not  _ in _ love with him. I realize that, now. You were right, Tony.  And I'm sorry.”

“It's way too fucking early for this conversation,” Tony says.

“I'd convinced myself it was real love because it was easier that way. If I didn't let anyone else in, then no one could hurt me.”

“I don't need the exposition, Rogers. You forget, I'm the one who pointed all this shit out to you.”

“The point – the point is that  _ you _ could hurt me, Tony. God, you could hurt me so bad.”

“I feel for you,” Tony says, the words bitten off and dry.

“And I know I hurt you last weekend – I know that.” Tony lets out a snort, some kind of attempt at denial, but Steve just keeps rushing on. “I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have run off. I should have stayed with you, and told you that I’m falling in love with you.”

Tony doesn't say anything for a beat.

“Come again?”

“I didn't even realize it – I spent years telling myself that what I felt for Bucky was love, but when I try to compare it to what I feel for you – I don't even know how to describe it. I try not to think about you, but you're all I think about. That night wasn't a  _ mistake _ , Tony. It was a miracle.”

Tony doesn't say anything for long moments, but the intercom connection buzzes quietly.

“Tony?”

“This is seriously happening right now? After all of...? You're just going to come here and – and think you can say something like that and we'll, what, ride off into the sunset? That's not real life, Rogers.”

“Tony –”

“No, I let you talk, now it's my turn. You're, what, 26 years old? You don't know shit about shit. You don't know what love feels like, and you sure as shit don't feel it now.”

“I do,” Steve insists.

“And up until, what, a week ago, you thought you felt it for someone else. I'm not – we're not having this conversation.”

Steve, now that he's looking for it, can hear the frantic, haunted tone in Tony's voice. He knows he's the one who put it there – last week, if he'd had this revelation then, Tony would have maybe smiled at him, brushed a hand up Steve's shoulder. If Steve had declared his love then, Tony may have accepted it. Now, he's going to have to work a little harder.

“It's okay, Tony. You can take some time to get used to it. I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

“ _ You _ don't know how you feel.”

“I know enough to want to tell you. That ought to count for something.”

“Just – go away, Steve.”

“I will. But before I go, will you tell me – I know it's not my place to ask. But did you drink that morning?”

Steve forces himself not to hold his breath while he waits for the answer.

Tony sighs. “No. I poured one, and I carried it around with me for a while, but I poured it down the sink after you left.”

Steve lets all his air out in relief.

“I'm glad,” he says. “I'm sorry I made you feel like you wanted one, though. I can't take that back, but I want you to know I'm sorry.”.

“I'll see you in a couple of hours,” Tony says, after a long beat, just before the intercom clicks off. 

++++++++++

Steve goes back to the house after that, trying to let the long drive clear his mind but not really succeeding.  He pours himself another coffee, and heads down the hall to Bucky's room, knocking on the door loudly. Bucky comes and opens it immediately, sleep-rumpled with his hair flattened down in some spots, sticking straight up in others. Steve snickers at him.

“Wow, Clint is one lucky man,” he grins.

Bucky rubs a hand over his hair, grinning back. “That bad, hey?”

“Oh, it's amazing,” Steve says, taking a sip from his mug.

“Did you make one for me?”

“Pot’s not empty,” Steve says.

“So, did you go and see Tony this morning? How'd it go?” Bucky asks, yawning into the back of his hand as he heads toward the kitchen.

Steve shrugs. “Not great, but I'm not giving up.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow at him as he pours a mug of coffee for himself. “What do you mean, not great?”

“Mostly he just kept telling me to fuck off,” Steve says, taking a sip of his coffee. “But I think he'll forgive me eventually.”

“What exactly did you do, anyway?”

Steve blushes. He's not sure how to tell Bucky the whole story without outing himself for his – he realizes now – silly crush, and he’s avoided talking about it all week. He's sure one day he'll be able to say it out loud, and he and Bucky will laugh about it. However, he's also fairly certain that today, just a day before Bucky’s wedding, is not that day.

“I was an asshole. Let's just leave it there.”

Bucky studies him for a moment, then shrugs and flops down in an armchair.

“But you think it'll work out?”

Steve nods. “I love him, Buck. I'll keep telling him that until he believes me. He's worth waiting for.”

Bucky nods once, approvingly. “That's the spirit. Weddings are romantic – lots of flowers, and candles, and dancing. That'll help.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “If I want him to fall into my arms, dancing on his feet probably isn't going to help with that.”

Bucky grins at him. “I dunno, maybe he's into BDSM. Stepping on his toes could be foreplay.”

Steve chucks a throw pillow toward Bucky's head, and he deflects it with an arm.

“I'm just saying, don't knock it 'til you've tried it.”

Steve laughs and curls down into another chair. “So, only one more day until you’re old and married. How does it feel? You ready?”

“Jesus, yes,” Bucky says, sitting up. “I've been waiting for this forever.”

“Or, like, three months,” Steve counters.

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” Bucky says with a chuckle.

Steve takes another sip of his coffee just as a small white envelope slides through the mail slot in the front door. Bucky looks at it, then glances at Steve before shrugging a shoulder and moving toward the door.

He picks up the envelope. It's got a slight bulge in the middle, and he opens the flap. Out slides a dried primrose, and a small white note card.

Steve stands up to look over Bucky's shoulder at the note.

_ I love you, _ it says in scribbly handwriting. Clint's scribbly handwriting.

Bucky turns and looks up at Steve with a dopey grin on his face.

Steve feels a familiar tightening in his chest, but now he knows better than to attribute it to some unrequited love, or to jealousy. The feeling would better be characterized as unbridled joy and happiness for his best friend, and a tiny stab of envy. That Bucky was able to find someone like Clint, who could love him, cherish him, and spoil him the way Steve knows he deserves.

“He's such a sap,” Bucky grouses, but Steve can see the way his eyes shine, the way his jaw quivers.

“You deserve him, Buck,” Steve says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“You deserve love, too, Stevie,” Bucky says, with a sideways look at Steve.

“I know, Buck.”

“Yeah? I was starting to think you didn't.”

Steve feels himself blush a little. “For a while I wasn't so sure. But I think I've figured it out. Now I just need Tony to realize he deserves it, too.”

Because that’s been part of it, as well, Steve realizes. The reason why Tony’s been willing to put up with Steve’s shit for so long, and part of the reason it had all gone so wrong. Maybe, maybe even part of the reason Tony had started chasing him in the first place.

Bucky smiles at him. “If anyone can convince Tony Stark he's worth loving, it's you,” he says.

“Thanks, Buck. Now – we'd better start thinking about getting you ready for your rehearsal dinner,” Steve grins. He waves in the general direction of the bathroom. “Get in the shower, you’re disgusting.”

Bucky preens and hops toward the bathroom, stripping his shirt off as he goes. Steve can appreciate the musculature of Bucky's back, but he wonders how he ever could have mistaken this feeling as romantic for so long. 

++++++++++

A small party follows directly after dinner. Steve keeps trying to get close to Tony during the meal, but Bucky's mother makes a speech, then it's Steve's turn, then Tony makes one, and one thing after another keeps Steve seated at the long table and five seats down from Tony.

He finally gets the chance when he spots Tony across the room at the coffee bar.

Steve has been staying away from alcohol all night, in deference to Tony, even though there's an open bar. He'd even spotted Clint and Bucky sipping champagne earlier in the evening, though he couldn't help but notice they'd waited until Tony was distracted elsewhere.

Tony gets himself what looks like a pretty intense espresso. He presses a fist to his chest while he waits, rubbing up and down slowly on his sternum.

Steve sidles up to the counter beside him, leaning over it and into Tony's eyeline.

“Hey,” he says quietly, lowering his chin and looking up at Tony through his eyelashes. “Nice party.”

Tony takes his espresso from the bartender, tossing a tip into the little jar before turning back toward the room, tipping his cup toward Steve in greeting. He’s putting on an air of nonchalant, but his body language is stiff. “Seems to have been successful. Our friends are officially rehearsed, so I'm calling it a win.”

Steve grins and takes a sip from his cola. Tony is gorgeous, especially after a week of Steve missing him, but he also looks tired and pale. His hand is still on his chest, and Steve decides he wants to make that pained look on his face go away.

“So, I'd like to talk to you,” Steve says, standing up straight. He places his coke on the counter, then takes Tony's coffee and sets that beside it. “But more than that, I'd really like to dance with you.” He holds out his palm, patiently, and waits.

Tony looks down at his hand, then back up to Steve's face. He hesitates for a moment, and Steve thinks he's pushed too far, that Tony's going to tell him to go fuck himself again, and his heart pounds.

“You know what? Sure. Why not?” Tony finally says, taking Steve's hand and pulling him toward the dance floor.

Steve laughs as he pulls Tony into his arms, and they start to sway gently to the music, ignoring the rest of the room. “I'm a terrible dancer, by the way,” he says, grinning as he moves, sure he's gangly and awkward. He looks down to make sure Tony's feet aren't within stomping distance of his own.

Tony snorts out a laugh. “So then why did you ask?”  There’s a wrinkle in Tony’s forehead that Steve really wants to smooth away.  With his lips.

“I thought for sure you'd say no. And I just wanted to get my arms around you again,” Steve admits quietly. “I should have –”

“Stop right there,” Tony says, taking his hand off Steve's shoulder and holding his palm up. “I agreed to a  _ dance _ , Rogers.”

“I know. I know that you think I was using you, and I was. I just should have realized that you're what I really wanted, Tony. I just want you to know that.”

“Goddammit, Steve,” Tony says, dropping Steve's hand and stepping back.

“Please, Tony,” he says, taking a step forward.

Tony takes another step back, his hand coming up to his chest again. His breath is coming fast, and his face grows paler before Steve's eyes.

“Tony?” he asks, stepping forward again. Tony's eyes meet his, and Steve sees the panic there. “Tony, are you okay?”

“Steve,” Tony says his name in barely a whisper, barely a sound, before he turns and drops to his knees, gasping for breath. “Fuck, Steve, call an ambulance,” he moans, and Steve is on his knees beside him already, hands on him, trying to hold him upright, trying to find out what's wrong.

 

_if you have downloaded this work to read on a mobile device, you can click[here](https://68.media.tumblr.com/5c4d8643d000b4889c52d5edc0253e70/tumblr_ohbkdrac0Q1u78j6zo3_1280.jpg) to see the art._

 

Someone else calls for the ambulance, and Steve stays with Tony, whispering nonsense words to him, that he'll be okay, that Steve's here, that help is coming. Clint and Bucky are right beside him, and someone ushers in the paramedics.

Steve feels like he's underwater the whole time. He holds Tony's hand while the paramedics take his pulse. One of them says something about aspirin, and Steve watches as they give Tony a pill, put an IV in his arm, hang a bag filled with clear fluid, put an oxygen mask on his face. He gets in the ambulance with Tony, who is glancing around wildly, eyes rolling like a wounded animal, moaning in pain and not seeming to see Steve at all – or anyone.

Steve holds Tony's pale, cold, clammy hand through the entire ride to the hospital, until they get to the emergency room and the doctors tell him he can't come in any further.

He stands there, shaking, until Bucky and Clint arrive, looking rumpled in their suits, ties hanging limply around their necks. Bucky pulls Steve into his arms, and only then does Steve feel tears start to fall. 

++++++++++

The hospital calls Pepper – or maybe Clint does – because Pepper is apparently Tony's medical proxy. Steve tries not to think too hard about why Tony's personal assistant would be his medical proxy, rather than a family member or other friend. She sits quietly in the waiting room with them, eyes glancing down to where Steve's hand is clasped tightly in Bucky's, and Bucky's other hand is resting comfortingly on the back of Clint's neck. Clint's hands hang limply between his knees as he hunches in his chair, staring at the floor.

Her eyes are glittering with unshed tears, but she is clipped and efficient. When the doctor comes out to talk to her, she moves to the side of the waiting room with her and they speak for a few moments before Pepper comes back to their small group. Bruce and Natasha are sitting on the other side of Clint, quietly murmuring to one another.

“She says it's a heart attack,” Pepper says, voice cracking just a little.

“What? That doesn't – he's too young for that. And he's in such good shape.” Steve stands as he protests. “I've seen him work out, there's no way.”

She sighs. “Tony is in good shape, yes. But the truth is, this isn't coming as that big a surprise to me,” she says quietly. “Tony works too hard. Among other things.”

“Other things like what?” Steve asks.

“I'm sorry, but that's not my information to divulge,” Pepper says, almost apologetically. “They're prepping him for surgery now, and the surgeon says once they get in and get a really good look around, they'll be able to come up with a more accurate prognosis.”

“Wait, surgery?” Clint's head pops up to look at her. “How bad is it?”

Steve glances back and forth between them, heart pounding. His stomach is roiling, and he swallows hard.

“It's pretty bad, Clint,” she says, her lip trembling. “They're not – they're not sure how it will go. It all depends on the surgery.”

Steve has to sit back down, hard, in his chair. Bucky's arm goes around him immediately, his hand clenching Clint's on the other side. Natasha stands up and pulls Pepper into a hug.

After a moment, she pulls back. “They said it could take hours,” Pepper says. “Tony would want you guys to go back to the hotel. Have a toast in his honour, or something.” She says it with a sad little grin, a twinkle behind the tear sparkling in her eye.

Steve agrees. That's what Tony would say.

Bucky glances at him, and studies his face for a moment. Steve remains impassive.

“You want me to stay?” Bucky finally asks him. “Keep you company?”

“We don't mind,” Clint says, leaning over Bucky and placing a supportive hand on Steve's knee. “He's my friend.”

Steve gives them both a watery smile, and shakes his head. “No. No, I'm okay here. I'll wait, and I'll text you if I hear anything.”

“Oh, I'm staying, too,” Pepper says, crossing her arms and sniffling a little. “But the rest of you should go. There's really nothing you can do here.”

“Go,” Steve reiterates, giving Bucky's shoulder a gentle push. “He's in surgery. We'll call you if we need you.”

Clint and Bucky exchange looks, and Steve is struck, again, by how right for one another they are. Their wordless conversation ends when they both stand up at the same time, and Bucky gives Steve's shoulder another squeeze.

“Call me if you need me,” Bucky says quietly. “We’re going to go make some calls.”

“Calls?” Steve asks.

“We can’t get married tomorrow,” Clint says. 

“Not without Tony,” Bucky nods. “We’ll postpone until he’s out of the hospital.”

Steve just stares at them both. “Are you sure?”

“Of course we’re sure,” Bucky says with a gentle, encouraging smile. “It wouldn’t be right if Tony wasn’t there beside us.”

Natasha and Bruce step forward and each give Steve's arm a gentle squeeze. 

“We’ll give you a hand,” Bruce says to Clint and Bucky, and then the four of them leave. Steve takes a deep breath and turns to give Pepper a gentle smile.

“You don't have to stay, either,” she says softly.

“I can’t leave,” is all Steve says.  “I won’t.”

Pepper doesn’t respond.  She just nods and sits down beside him, folding her hands primly in her lap. 

They sit in silence for a long while

“Tony doesn't – he doesn't have a lot of friends,” Pepper says after a while. “You may have noticed, he can be kind of –”

“Insecure?”

Pepper stares at him for a moment more, contemplating. “Not a lot of people get that. They think he's arrogant.”

“I know.”

“Tony can be hard to – to care about. Not because of who he is. But the way he pushes people away. It can be hard to get to know him. You have to be stubborn. Anyway. Me, and Rhodey, and Clint and Bruce. And now James, and Natasha, by extension.”

“And me.”

Pepper pauses. “I'm not sure you fall into that category.”

“Of people who care about Tony?”

Pepper nods. “You haven't known him that long.”

Steve shrugs. “It didn't  _ take _ that long.”

They sit in silence for a little while longer. “He talks about you,” she says after a moment. “I probably shouldn't be telling you that.”

Steve smiles at her, and tries not to let the relief show on his face. “I'm glad you did. It's nice to hear.”

“Tony can – Tony doesn't do a lot of long-term relationships.”

“I've heard that.”

“It's the insecurity thing. He has a hard time putting himself out there.”

“Well, he managed.”

“Yeah?” She sounds hopeful.

“I fu – I screwed it up, though,” Steve says, some bitterness creeping into his voice.

Pepper raises another eyebrow at the aborted curse.

“And yet, here you sit.”

“Well, I was hoping to fix it,” he admits. “I'm in love with him.”

Pepper doesn't answer him, but she does place one of her small, soft hands over his. Her palm is warm and dry, and her fingers squeeze his reassuringly. “You'll get the chance,” she says, as he squeezes back. 

++++++++++

While they wait, Pepper explains the problem. Tony had been born with a congenital heart defect, causing problems with two of the valves in his heart. Between that underlying problem and Tony's lifestyle, it had been too much, a valve had blown, and he'd had a heart attack. The surgeons had gone in to replace the two faulty valves, and stent the artery that had been obstructed and caused the heart attack.

“He's so young,” Steve sighs.

Pepper snorts. “Tony is 35, Steve. He's old enough for years of partying and a high stress lifestyle to catch up to his condition.”

Steve thinks of Tony’s face, pale and drawn earlier that day, and wonders if part of that stress had been him, a guy too caught up with his own crap to see how he was hurting Tony, and how Tony was letting him. 

++++++++++

After the first three hours, Steve gets them both a cup of bitter coffee from the machine in the waiting room. He also gets a little package of potato chips from the vending machine, and he holds the open bag out to Pepper first. She daintily takes one and pops it into her mouth while he takes a sip of his coffee.

Pepper explains that the surgeons are probably replacing Tony's non-functioning valves with mechanical ones. She explains that the mechanical ones will be more durable. Tony had even had a hand in designing them, but he'd been putting off surgery – and now he wasn’t getting the choice of a timeline.

“He knew this would happen?” Steve tries not to feel betrayed by the knowledge.

“Not exactly,” Pepper says. “He was supposed to schedule the surgery before it got to be too much of a problem. This was... unexpected.”

Steve swallows another mouthful of his coffee.

_ If Tony survives, _ he prays,  _ if he survives, I promise I won’t hurt him again.  Just, please -- I’ll do anything, please -- just please let him be okay. _

++++++++++

The surgeon comes out to the waiting room after another hour or so, her pale face tired, hair limp under her surgical cap.

“Ms. Potts?”

“Dr. Busch,” Pepper says, standing. She tugs Steve up to his feet with her, keeping hold of his hand. He thinks it's to comfort both of them.

“He's in recovery,” the surgeon says, and the wave of relief makes Steve dizzy – Pepper squeezes his hand, tight and urgent, and he thinks it may be the only thing keeping him from sliding down onto his knees. “It was a little tougher than we'd hoped.” Dr. Busch glances at Steve, then back toward Pepper.

“It's okay,” Pepper says quickly, her voice calm and sure. “Steve is Tony's partner. He can hear this.”

Steve gives her a surprised – but grateful – look at the categorization.

“We replaced both the tricuspid and the mitral valves, and we had trouble with the stent. The drop in blood pressure caused Mr. Stark's veins to contract, so we had more trouble with the angiocath than is ideal. We also had to repair the pulmonary valve, but we were able to do that without too much trouble.”

“He'll be okay, though, right?” Steve asks, heart pounding.

“He's in recovery now. He'll be waking up soon, so you can see him. He'll be a little groggy at first, and he can't move for a while. He has to lay perfectly still for a few hours – when we perform an angiocath, we go in through the groin, and because he's had so many blood thinners... we don't want that clot to open up,” Dr. Busch finishes.

“But he's okay?”

“Yes,” Dr. Busch finally answers him. “He should recover nicely.”

Steve lets out a harsh breath, and Pepper's free hand comes to rest on his wrist.

“Would you like to come see him?”

Steve wants to nod, but finds he can’t move.  Pepper takes his hand, deceptively strong, and pulls him up anyway.

Steve is grateful Tony has her.  He hopes that one day, he can learn to be strong for Tony, too, but for now, he’s just grateful.  _ Thank you, God, _ he prays.  _ Thank you. _

++++++++++

At first, Steve thinks he should wait. Let Pepper go in, talk to Tony, find out if Tony even wants to see Steve.

But he allows his own selfish interest to win out, and he and Pepper go to the cardiac care unit together, where Tony is recovering in a private room.

There's a curtain hiding most of the bed from view when they walk into the room, and a nurse standing at the end of the curtain, writing on a clipboard. She smiles gently at them before looking back down to Tony on the bed.

“Looks like you have visitors,” she says with a gentle smile.

“Pepper? Shit, Pep, you don't want to come in here, they gave me a goddamned catheter.”

Pepper lets out a light, surprised laugh. “I'm not alone, Tony.”

“Warn a guy, Pep!”

Tony's voice is rough, gravelly, and the most beautiful noise Steve's ever heard. He feels tears of relief spring into his eyes at the sound. He sounds tired, but he sounds like Tony.

Pepper peeks around the curtain first, and Steve steps in beside her, nervous but excited.

“Steve?” Tony's voice comes out as a squeak. “What are you – what are you doing here?”

Steve leans forward and takes hold of Tony's hand. “I was worried,” he says.

“How are you feeling?” Pepper asks, petting a hand on Tony's shoulder.

“Like someone cut my chest open and pumped me full of drugs,” Tony rasps.

“He has to stay in that position for another four hours,” the nurse says, putting the clipboard down in a little pocket at the foot of the bed. “He can't move at all.”

Steve nods. “We'll keep him still.”

“I'm Claire,” she grins. “If you need me, push the button. I'll be back to check in in about half an hour.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I asked her to run away with me, but she said she doesn't date older men. Isn't that insulting?”

Steve thinks his voice is thin and reedy, his words too fast to be comfortable.

“It's probably for the best,” he says, bending low at the waist to place a gentle kiss on the back of Tony's wrist. He manages to avoid the IV taped there. “I wouldn't want to have to fight her off.”

“You...” Tony trails off, looking between Steve and Pepper, eyes tight.

“You should be resting,” Steve says, pulling a chair up and sitting in it without letting go of Tony's hand. “Want me to turn the TV on?”

Pepper moves around the bed and sits down on the other side. 

++++++++++

Pepper and Steve chat, letting Tony pay attention – or not – as he feels like it. After an hour, Tony starts shifting uncomfortably.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks him, rubbing his thumb over the back of Tony's hand comfortingly. “Getting stiff?”

“Yeah,” Tony admits, looking up at Steve through his eyelashes. “Kinda sore.”

Steve glances around the hospital room, and then lets go of Tony's hand. He tries not to mourn the loss of contact, and opens a small cupboard, happy to find spare hospital gowns and blankets.

He takes a gown, folds it up into a small square, then gently tucks it in under Tony's hip, just at the small of his back – just enough to stretch the muscle and change his body position without any risk of actually moving his body.

Immediately, Tony lets out a guttural moan of pleasure.

“Holy fuck, Sunshine, how did you do that?”

Steve feels a little thrill, skin heating at the sound of Tony calling him by the familiar nickname. It seems like it's been ages since he'd heard it, even though it had only been a week.

He sits back down and takes Tony's hand up again, squeezing it.

“My mom was a nurse. When I was little, she'd sometimes take me to work with her, and I'd help out a little. Couple of the nurses showed me a few tricks.”

“They're all saints,” Tony sighs, body relaxing.

Steve chuckles. “That feels better, then?”

“God, yes.”

Pepper glances back and forth between them thoughtfully, then picks up the conversation where it had left off. 

++++++++++

Claire checks on them a few more times, and Tony slowly gets more comfortable with Steve's presence. Once Tony's allowed to move again, he rolls over onto his side.

Steve rubs his lower back, thumbs kneading at the tense, stiff muscles, and Tony lets out a moan.

Pepper just continues to watch them with a gentle smile on her face.

Tony falls asleep, and Steve lets him rest. Pepper gets up, stretches, and nods her chin toward the door. Steve follows her into the hallway.

“I'm going to go home and have a shower,” she says. “Want me to call someone to come stay with him so you can do the same?”

Steve shakes his head.

“I'm not going anywhere.” 

++++++++++

Bucky texts him around nine.

_ How's Tony? _

_ He's doing okay, _ Steve types back.  _ Sleeping now. _

_ How are you doing? Have you slept? _

_ I'm fine. _

_ You should go home. Get some rest. Clint and I can come stay with him. Clint wants to see Tony anyway. _

_ No, thanks. I'm okay. _

Steve smiles at Bucky's responding text.

_ See you in an hour, punk. _

Bucky and Clint arrive at the hospital an hour later with a large cup of fresh coffee for Steve. It tastes much better than the waiting room coffee, but Steve hasn’t wanted to leave.  Tony is still sleeping when they get there, and so they don’t speak, just hand the coffee silently over, Bucky gripping Steve’s shoulder in a hard, comforting grip.  

When he arrives, Clint can’t take his eyes off Tony, and he can’t hide the tears in them.  But it is Steve who he surprises by catching him in a hug, whispering softly,  _ thank you, thank you, thank you,  _ like a mantra.

Steve understands, and hugs Clint back, gratefully.  It’s all he can think, all he has been thinking, too. 

++++++++++

Steve is quietly sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair he’s pulled up beside Tony’s bed. The padded visitor’s chair that he insisted Pepper take is on the other side of the bed, and Bucky and Clint are seated at the foot of the bed, hands twined together and chatting with Pepper quietly. Steve’s not really paying attention to the conversation, just watching Tony sleep.

His hand twitches first, and then his eyelashes flutter. Steve smiles softly down at him, and is gratified to see the open, happy grin on Tony’s face for a split second at the sight of him, before his face schools down into something more neutral. Steve tries not to let that get to him – he knows Tony’s still smarting from Steve’s own idiocy, and he deserves it.

“Hey, Tony,” Clint pipes up, turning to greet Tony with a gentle smile. “How’re you feeling?”

“Shouldn’t you boys be on your honeymoon?” Tony mock-leers, although it’s not a very good attempt.  “I’m fairly certain that’s what you do after you get married.”

Bucky and Clint share a glance, and Steve wonders, just for a moment, how he ever thought he could get in between them. The look they give one another might as well be an entire conversation. 

“We didn’t, uh, actually get married,” Clint says. “We put the wedding off.”

Tony struggles to sit up, glowering. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Come on, Tony, you had to know –”

“Seriously, you had people, you had food, you had – you had cake! Why wouldn’t you get married?”

“Maybe because one of our best friends was in the hospital fighting for his life?” Clint says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, please,” Tony scoffs. “I’m fine, I was  _ always _ going to be fine, there was no need to change everything around for this!”

“They were worried, Tony,” Pepper says. “We all were.”

Tony rolls his eyes, pale hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Steve stares at the dark purple bruising around the port of the IV in the back of his hand.

“It’s fine, Tony,” Bucky says, leaning forward and clasping a hand around Tony’s ankle under the blankets. “We want you to be there. It wouldn’t be right if you weren’t. We’ll just try again when you’re feeling better.”

“But you’ve been planning this for months.” Tony’s voice sounds small, like he’s touched that they waited, but doesn’t think he deserves that consideration. Steve wants to crawl into the bed and wrap his arms around him, but he knows the gesture wouldn’t be welcome for a multitude of reasons.

“All the details are set, the only thing that needs to change is the date. We’ll make it work,” Clint says.

“I still think –” Tony starts.

Steve reaches out, then, and puts a hand on Tony’s wrist – gentle, because Tony’s skin looks like paper and his eyes still look tired – soothingly. “It’s okay, Tony. You’ll be able to go home soon and then they’ll get married.”

Tony just looks up at him, eyes wide. He looks like he’s about to say something, but the doctor chooses that moment to come into the room.

“Mr. Stark, how are we feeling?” she asks, tapping a few times on the touchscreen tablet in her hand.

“Super, can I go home now?” Tony tries to sit up a little higher, and Pepper gives him a quelling look. Steve simply leans forward to adjust the pillows behind him. Tony turns to stare at him again, blinking, but Steve just gives him a soft smile and then turns back toward Dr. Busch expectantly.

“I need you to stay here for a couple more days,” she says, shaking her head a little as she looks up from the tablet. “We need to keep an eye on your pressure for a bit, and make sure you’re not in too much pain. I’d like to go over a few things with you, actually, if everyone can clear out and let us speak privately.”

Tony glances around, eyes lighting on Pepper, Clint and Bucky in turn, before he looks at Steve. Steve moves to stand up, but Tony reaches out and takes hold of his hand, keeping their gazes locked.

“They’re okay here,” Tony says, not turning away from Steve at all. “I’d like them to stay.”

Steve grins and turns his hand in Tony’s so that their fingers can twine together, and gives Tony’s a little squeeze. Tony looks down at their hands, the look on his face almost surprised, before he looks back up to Steve’s face. They look at each other for a moment before Tony breaks and turns to look at Dr. Busch.

Steve feels a slight blush cross his cheeks as Bucky kicks a leg out and nudges at Steve’s ankle. He glances over, and both Bucky and Clint are wearing shit-eating grins and staring at him. He rolls his eyes and turns to give his attention to the doctor as well – anything to avoid those matching smirks.

“Okay, then. Your pressures are actually doing well, and your oxygen saturation is in a good range. We’ll keep you for a few days, make sure everything is stable, and get your pain under control. After that, you should be able to go home. How  _ is _ your pain? I see on here that you’ve declined opioid pain medication. I’m sure you’re in a lot of pain post-surgery, it would be easier on you if you allowed us to give you morphine for it.”

Tony shakes his head, and Steve suddenly understands the pinched look around his mouth. Of  _ course _ Tony’s in pain. 

“No, thanks, Doc. I’m good with Tylenol. I try to stay away from the hard stuff.”

“Is there an addiction issue I need to be aware of?”

Tony shakes his head glibly. “Mostly alcohol, but sober is sober, you know?”

She nods, then glances back down at her tablet. She keeps speaking, but honestly Steve stops paying much attention. He mostly looks down at Tony, trying to pick out what else he’s missed. He’s in pain, and he looks tired. His eyes are ringed with dark circles, and his jaw is tight. 

Steve brushes his thumb gently back and forth on the back of Tony’s hand.  He understands Tony’s reasoning, but he hates that pinched, tired, pale look.  He considers arguing with Tony, but realizes he doesn’t really have enough information to know if he should.  Instead, he just wishes with all his heart that he had the power to make the pain and exhaustion in Tony’s eyes go away forever. 

++++++++++

It’s four days later that Tony finally manages to convince his doctors that he’ll be fine at home.  He’s become increasingly impatient, and all the scolding from Pepper and glaring from Natasha, the patient explanations from Bruce, or the steady support of Clint and Bucky and Rhodes can’t change his mind.  Steve’s tried, but Tony just brushes him off, and Steve is scared to stress him out, and he wonders if Tony actually would be better off at home, and so he doesn’t push.  

Besides, Steve has a plan. A new plan, but one that’s even better than his old one. He’s had a lot of time, over the last few days, to really think it through.

“My blood pressure is good, right?” Tony asks them, not waiting for an answer. “My oxygen is good, my pulse is good, You’ve got me off the IV, and on oral antibiotics and Tylenol. I’m off the catheter, I can hire a nurse, I can set up a whole hospital suite at my house. I don’t need to be here, taking up a bed that someone else could be using.” He says the last with a grin – hospital overcrowding is apparently his gambit. “You were going to let me go two days from now anyway. What’s a couple days?”

Steve leans forward in his chair. “I’ll stay with him,” he says. 

Tony whips around and blinks at him. “You’ll what?”

“Well, they’re obviously worried about you being home alone. You can still hire a full-time nurse, but I can be around when they’re not. I took two full weeks off.”

Tony blinks. “For after the wedding?”

Steve blushes. When he’d taken the time off, it had been more because he’d intended to get in the way of said wedding, but now he thinks it’s serendipitous that he’s been able to stay by Tony’s bedside for the better part of a week – except for going home to Bucky’s for a shower and a change of clothes.

“I don’t think you should be home alone,” he says, quiet enough for Tony’s ears only. “I want to stay with you.”

Tony turns back to the doctor – a different one today, with thick, white hair and gold wire-framed glasses. “See? Strapping young lad, full time nurse… I’m set.”

The doctor nods and taps a few buttons on his tablet. “Fine. See that you get that nurse,” he says, voice harried. “I’ll put together a list of prescriptions, a list of activities to avoid, and we’ll get started on the paperwork.” He turns to Steve. “Are you able to drive him home?”

Steve nods, and the doctor leaves the room. Tony flops back on his pillows, pulling the blankets up to his chest.

“Look, Steve, I don’t –”

“Tony, stop. I know… I know I hurt you. I know what I did to you was unfair. But I really am sorry, and I really do love -- I mean,” he amends carefully, at Tony’s apprehensive look “-- care about you. There’s no place I’d rather be. I want to help.”

“I don’t  _ need _ –”

“I know that, Tony. I know you don’t  _ need _ my help. But I want to give it to you anyway.”

Tony stares at him, a little dumbfounded. Steve takes a deep breath before he continues, a gentle, hopeful smile on his face.

Steve finds Tony’s hand on the bed, gripping it gently. It’s cold, and he starts rubbing it a bit, to get the circulation back.  

“I want to give you everything.” 

Tony looks away, but Steve isn’t discouraged – Tony doesn’t pull his hand back. 

++++++++++

“Seriously, Steve, you don’t have to stay,” Tony says, even as Steve is ushering him through the door and setting his own overnight bag inside the entryway. They’d swung by Bucky’s house so Steve could grab a few things. The drive up to Tony’s house had been quiet, and Steve had even tried to help Tony up to the house with a supportive arm on his elbow and had been unceremoniously scowled at and refused.

So Steve simply follows him into the house, keeping a watchful eye to make sure Tony’s steps are steady.

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Tony repeats.  “I mean, I appreciate you saying that to the doctors, but it worked, and I don’t expect you to, I mean you don’t really need --”

“I know, Tony. I know I don’t have to. This is for me, okay? I’ll just feel better being close by, knowing I can keep an eye on you. Besides, I already have the time off from work, and Bruce and Clint don’t want you to be alone either.  If I don’t stay, one of them will move in, and Clint’s already missing his honeymoon.”  

Tony rolls his eyes, knowing he’s being played, and gestures for Steve to follow him down a hallway. Steve remembers a little bit of the layout of the house – enough to recall that this hallway also houses Tony’s bedroom. Tony points to a room just down and across the hall from his own door. 

“You can set up in there,” he says, giving the door a disinterested wave. “Do, I don’t know, ‘overbearing person’ type things.”

“What are you going to do?” Steve asks.

“I have  _ days _ of work to catch up on –”

“Tony, no,” Steve says, stopping in the hallway and crossing his arms. He tries to look serious and authoritative as possible.

“Tony,  _ yes _ ,” Tony snaps back. “I have been out of commission for a  _ week _ , Steve. Pepper wouldn’t let me have a tablet the  _ whole time _ .”

“That’s because you had a  _ heart attack _ and  _ heart surgery _ .”

“Yeah, and do you know how behind that put me?”

“I don’t  _ care _ . Neither does Pepper.  Tony, come on!” Steve can hear his voice rising, can hear himself getting frustrated, but he doesn’t care. Tony could have died.

Steve blinks, and stares at Tony for a moment. Tony could have  _ died _ .

“Hey, you okay? Lookin’ a little pale, there, Sunshine.”

“You could have died,” Steve says, surprised to find it comes out as just barely more than a whisper. His throat tightens, and he feels like, for the first time in a few years, he could be on the verge of an asthma attack.

“I’m fine, Steve,” Tony says, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “Look, it’s really nice of you to drive me home but if you’re going to do the mother hen act the whole –”

“I could have  _ lost _ you,” Steve says, shocked to hear the deep-throated sound of pain in his own voice. He steps forward and takes hold of Tony’s shoulders, sliding his left hand up to Tony’s neck, letting a thumb brush his collar bone. 

“I’m fine,” Tony says again. This time, it’s gentle. Reassuring.

Steve steps forward and pulls him into a hug, tucking his face into where Tony’s shoulder and neck meet, breathing in his scent. Tony doesn’t pull away. 

++++++++++

On the third day Steve spends at Tony’s, they’re sitting on the deck. Tony has music playing in the background while he fiddles with a tablet. 

They’d come to a compromise on Tony doing work for Stark Industries. Steve had agreed to allow Tony to work for four hours per day, as long as he took breaks. Tony had agreed to work for six hours per day, with breaks, and not complain about Steve insisting he take those breaks.

Truth be told, Steve’s been enjoying their time together. Sometimes, they watch movies on Tony’s ridiculously huge projection screen. Sometimes, Tony will sit on one end of the couch to work on his tablet, and Steve will sit on the other side with a sketchbook. 

Steve can tell Tony’s waiting for him to leave. Not in the sense of leaving Tony alone, and going back to Bucky’s, but in the grander, more final sense. Steve’s not sure how exactly to make Tony understand that he won’t.

Tony puts his tablet on the little glass table beside him, and looks out at the ocean. The sun had set an hour ago, and they’d been sitting under the twinkling yard lights, not saying anything.

“I don’t want to do this,” Tony finally says. His voice is quiet, hoarse, like he’s trying to force the words out.  His eyes are shadowed, and he isn’t looking directly at Steve.

“Do what?” Steve asks him.

“You and me.”

Steve waits, but no further explanation is forthcoming. He sighs and slips his pencil into the coil of his sketchpad before he puts it down on the seat beside him. 

“Okay,” he says, leaning back to retrieve his tea from the end table. He takes a sip. 

“So you can, you know, you can go now,” Tony says, waving toward the patio doors.  He’s still not quite looking at Steve, but Steve is looking at Tony, and hates how haunted he looks. He wonders -- he knows, suddenly, that he’s not been the first person to hurt Tony, to  _ betray _ him, but he hates, he  _ hates _ that he was definitely one of those people.

He plans to spend the rest of his life making it up to Tony.  

He really does.  It’s part of his overall strategic plan, the one he’d made while Tony had been lying around in hospital, once they’d known he was definitely out of the woods.

For now, though, he simply says, “No, thanks.”

Tony blinks at him. “Seriously, Steve.”

“I heard you,” he replies, tone mild.

“Then why aren’t you leaving?”

“Are you kicking me out?” he asks, keeping his voice gentle and non-threatening. “I thought we were getting along fine.”

Tony huffs out a frustrated sound. “Well, yeah, we’re getting along, that’s not the point. I’m saying I don’t want to date you, I don’t want to fuck you. So there’s no point in you hanging around waiting for it.”

Steve’s heart hurts. He supposes he deserves this. He’d hurt Tony so badly, and he’d already figured out how much trouble Tony has trusting people. He really can’t blame Tony for not wanting to let him in again. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to leave. Even if he can’t have Tony the way he wants, he won’t let that stop him.

“Just because I can’t have you the way I want, doesn’t mean I don’t want to have you whatever way I can. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Tony,” Steve says. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the frozen stillness of Tony’s body beside him at the words. “If you don’t want me, then I’ll spend the rest of my life being your friend. I know it’s my fault. I can’t take it back, no matter how much I might want to. But I want to be your friend at least. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere unless you really want me to.”

Tony doesn’t speak for long moments. Steve listens to the waves crash along the beach below them, watches the twinkling lights of boats out on the water.

“I’m tired,” Tony says, even though it’s only just after eight o’clock. “I’m going to bed.” Steve doesn’t argue, and doesn’t try to stop him. Tony’s still recovering, and there are still deep bruises under his eyes.  He needs more rest than he’ll allow himself.  

Steve watches him leave, and then turns back to stare at the water. 

++++++++++

Steve wakes up at the first contact of Tony’s hand in his hair, and his eyes pop open.

He’s in one of Tony’s (ridiculously comfortable) spare rooms, and Tony is kneeling on the bed beside him, eyes dark, skin flushed.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, voice rough with sleep. He starts to sit up, ignoring the way the blanket slips down to pool around his waist.

Tony leans forward and presses his lips to Steve’s, and Steve lets a small noise creak out from his throat. Tony breaks the kiss, too soon, lips trailing down Steve’s neck, his chest, heading unquestionably south.

“Whoa, Tony, whoa,” Steve says, grasping Tony by the shoulders and halting his progress. “You’re still – you’re still recovering. You’re not supposed to do anything strenuous.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “I feel good,” he says. “Come on, Sunshine. I can manage. I’ll take it easy, just let me – I wanna make you feel good.”

“Why are you – I thought you didn’t want to do this. Me and you.”

Tony sits up properly and meets Steve’s eyes. “Did you mean what you said tonight? About not – not going anywhere, even if I don’t want us to be an ‘us’?”

Steve realizes, then – is Tony trying to turn them into friends with benefits? The thought breaks his heart. To have Tony that way, but not completely, would destroy him.

“Yes. I love you, Tony, and if you don’t want us to be together, then I’ll live with that because I have to. But I can’t – as much as I want to, I can’t be friends and sometimes have sex with you on the side. I wouldn’t be able to handle that.”

“I wouldn’t, either,” Tony says, hand caressing down Steve’s chest, to his waist, wrapping around his hip. “I believe you. That you’re sorry. That you lo- how you feel about me.”

“I  _ love _ you.”

Tony shivers a little at the words. “Please, Steve. Let me.” He glances down at Steve’s crotch so there’s no mistaking his meaning. “Let me try.”

Steve is weak, and he wants this, too, so he leans forward and kisses Tony, and doesn’t fight it when Tony leans down, pushes his sleep pants out of the way, and the hot, wet heat of Tony’s mouth envelops him.

The gentle, slick suction makes his toes tingle.

Tony stays true to his word, and while his mouth is hot and wet, his bobbing is slow and torturous. The steady pace drives Steve crazy, though, and before long he’s panting, hips trying to thrust up of their own accord as he gasps in pleasure.

Tony lets out a little bit of a moan, the vibrations making Steve clench his hands, digging his fingers into Tony’s scalp, and Tony increases his pace a little in response.

Steve comes embarrassingly fast, but Tony doesn't seem to mind. He swallows it down, only slightly out of breath, and licks his lips. Steve shudders, the sight sending a shiver up his spine.

“Can I –” he starts. He glances down at Tony's cock, which is hard and straining in his sleep pants. “Can I touch you?”

“ _ Can _ you –” Tony lets out a hysterical little laugh. “God, yes,” he says.

Steve's fingers slide down Tony's belly, over the soft skin and the soft, dark hair, until he can push Tony’s pants down and wrap his big, warm hand around Tony's cock, and Tony hisses through his teeth in pleasure.

Steve keeps a steady pace, kissing Tony's lips gently, lips slick and wet, tongue dipping in to taste himself there. Tony's manicured beard tickles his chin, and he keeps stroking, his other hand wrapping around Tony and hauling him over Steve, beside him on the bed, holding him close.

Tony's hips rock with Steve's strokes, until with a sigh, a harsh breath of air, he comes. Steve strokes him through it, watching Tony's thighs tremble, the added slickness of Tony's release hot on his knuckles.

He kisses Tony again, slowly, then rolls Tony gently onto his side, keeping a hand on Tony's belly, still rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss to Tony's shoulder. Tony’s panting like he’d just run a marathon. “That wasn't too much?”

Tony lets out a breathless laugh. “Worth it,” he sighs. “Totally worth it.”

Steve chuckles at him, and pulls Tony close to his chest.  “Can I ask you a favour?” Steve asks.

“Whatever you want,” Tony replies.  “A car, you want a car?  Or an island?  Because I can totally --”

“I want you to go to sleep. Here, right now. Just sleep, Tony.”

“This is going to be a thing now, is it? I knew it, it’s totally going to be a --”

Steve kisses him, swallowing the words. “Sleep.”  

And Tony sighs, and then he does. And this time it’s Steve who lies awake, long into the night, stroking Tony’s hair, feeling his breath on his neck and the comforting warmth of his skin against his own and feeling, once again, very, very thankful. 

++++++++++

The wedding goes off, once it’s rescheduled, without a hitch. It's a simple, relaxed affair. Bucky and Clint come toward the head of the aisle from opposite sides of the small, private beach, and meet in the middle. Steve grins as they get closer together and he can see a shining wetness in Clint's eyes. He glances toward Tony, in his station as Clint's best man, once in awhile, and Tony stares back at him.

Steve wonders if everyone can see the goofy smile on his face.

“You look amazing,” Bucky says to Clint once they're within touching distance. His voice is thick with emotion, and Clint reaches out to take hold of his hand.

“I love you,” he says simply.

They read their own vows, and while Clint is talking about Bucky being his family, the only family he'll ever need, Steve feels his own vision go a little blurry. He knows that feeling, of Bucky taking up an entire room, and being all-encompassing, and he's just glad they can be that for each other. He takes a moment to glance at Tony again, and his eyes aren't filled with tears, but Steve can see the slight tremble of his hands and the way his breath hitches before  he glances quickly away from Steve as Bucky tells Clint how much he means to him.

Steve signs his witness line first on the marriage certificate, and his fingers brush Tony's as he hands him the pen. Tony's skin is warm and dry, and Steve thrills at the little jolt of electricity that travels to his chest. He swallows hard and gives Tony a small smile as they return to their posts. The officiant declares Bucky and Clint husband and husband, and as they share their first kiss as a married couple, Steve only has eyes for Tony.

Tony gives him a dazzling, warm smile, and doesn't look away.

Steve is suddenly filled with a sense of  _ awareness _ . He knows deep in his heart that Tony’s it for him. In a way he never knew he could love, he loves Tony. He’d waited for this feeling, this sense of rightness. This man, right here, is the love of his life.

Steve takes in Tony’s smile, and grins back before walking up to Tony.  “Save me a dance?” he asks.  

Impossibly, Tony’s smile widens.  “I’ll save you two,” he replies.  “Three, if you ask real nice.”

And Steve laughs. His friends -- his family -- are all around him. From the dias Bucky winks at him and Clint gives him a thumbs up, and as he leans forward helplessly to kiss Tony, all he can think is that this -- this was what he’d spent his whole life waiting for, and he had no doubt that it would only get better.

Here, in this moment, he couldn’t help but feel that it had been worth every second.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the wonderful art by Kas. [Go to Tumblr to give feedback.](http://ynot-stark.tumblr.com/post/153744693479/here-is-my-part-for-the-cap-ironman-2016-big-bang)
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